Open Road
by KateMonster
Summary: When Ryan makes a different choice, fate intervenes to set him straight. Now complete, Chapters 1-14.
1. Chapter One

Title:  Open Road

Summary:  When Ryan makes a different choice, fate intervenes to set him straight.  Mildly AU.  

Author's Note:  Not mine!  No sue!  Gracias.  

            It was the middle of summer, and it shouldn't have been so cold, but apparently there was an unusual cold spell breezing through California the last few weeks.  

            Maybe it wasn't summer.  Maybe he'd been out here for months and it really was November, the way it felt.  But that was impossible, because he _knew_ he hadn't been out here more than three, maybe four weeks.  He hadn't spent that many nights out here.  Not yet.

            He made a mental note to check a newspaper the next time he saw one.  

            "Yo, Bike."  
            He turned automatically.  The nickname had already become his own.  He didn't even have to think about responding to it.

            "Dave."  
            Dave didn't get a nickname.  Dave was just too weird to even earn one.  Dave was a walking jewelry display, a skinny kid decked out in clothing he'd designed himself, and Dave had very interesting taste.  Dave was the kind of kid people either looked at for a long time or couldn't bring themselves to look at to begin with.  That was Dave.  Somebody like that, there wasn't even a need for a nickname.

            "I heard you was takin' off?"  
            He shrugged, not committing one way or the other.

            "Today?"  
            "Maybe."  
            Dave shook his head, running a finger through his spiky dreads.  "You know where to?"  
            "Maybe."  
            "You got money?"  
            "Maybe."  
            "You got any other answer?"

            "Naw."  Dave cracked up at that.  Dave was okay.  

            "You want a cig?"  
            "Oh, hell yeah."  He took it and accepted the light.  When he first met Dave a few weeks ago, he hadn't known whether or not he should accept cigs from Dave, what else Dave might be expecting.  But Dave didn't buy favors, he sold them, and he tended to be generous with the profit, at least to people he liked.  And they got along well enough.  Dave wasn't somebody he would have chosen as a friend, but sometimes you do what you have to do.

            "Ain't kiddin'.  You got somewheres to go?"  
            He sighed as he lowered the cigarette.  Dave could be a blessing sometimes.  And a pest at others.  Or both, like right now.  "Yeah.  I think."  
            "You sure?"  
            He shook his head.  "I don't wanna talk about it, man."  
            "Fair enough."  Dave lit his own cigarette then, and the two of them stared off beyond the park, at the middle-class homes just over the median.  Some of the moms in the neighborhood had been stalking around the park lately calling the police on them, which didn't seem right somehow, but it'd meant they had to lay low more than usual.  They'd probably have to find a new place for good sometime soon.  It was a good time to take off.

            "You gonna say goodbye to The Finger?"  
            "Why?"

            Dave lowered his cigarette, letting it flop to his side.  "Bike, Bike, Bike.  You gonna just walk out on her?"  
            He blinked at him.  "Why not?"  
            Dave sighed and shook his head.  "You an asshole, man."  
            "I didn't promise her nothing."  
            "She don't think that."  
            He licked his lips.  "Not my fault."  
            Dave lowered himself onto the bench, staring up at him.  "Then how you gonna get there?  You gonna ride?"  
            He shrugged.  "Yeah.  Guess so."  
            "How far are ya goin', anyway?  C'mon, Bike.  It's me.  Dave."  
            He stared down at Dave, Dave with the crazy hair and cut-up leather gloves, Dave who'd just given him a cigarette, who'd introduced him to The Finger in the first place.  He'd probably never know what her real name was, just like she would never know what his was.  But it wasn't meant to be.

            "Texas," he said finally.  "I'm goin' to… Austin."

*

            "Crap, crap, crap."  
            Seth dug through his wallet, his fingers tapping over the cards he'd accumulated in it.  Blockbuster, Subway… two more sandwiches to a free one.  No ATM card.

            "Mom!" he bellowed, dropping the wallet next to the packed duffel bag on his bed.  He burst out of the room and dashed down the hallway.  "Mom!"

            Instead, he came face to face with Rosa, who was just making her way out of the study.  "Your mother left," she said.

"Cr-ud," he said, amending his words.  Rosa never liked it when he swore, and she considered 'crap' swearing.  "How long ago?"

"Ten minutes?"

            "Yeah, thanks," he said, trying to at least mean it, before turning to dash back in to his room and grab for the phone.

She answered her cell phone right away.  "Seth, I'm driving, is it an emergency?"

"Yeah.  Totally.  I don't have an ATM card."

He heard the pause and the implied huff.  "Well, where did yours go?"   

He thought about it.  "The only one I had Dad was gonna borrow because you had his, and…" 

            "Well, stay put.  I'll be home in a couple of hours.  I just have to run over to the development and work out some stuff."

            "I gotta leave now, Mom."  
            "You can come and meet me at the development."  
            "Hold on," Seth said, working the words out aloud as he dumped the wallet into his duffel bag.  "I'll call Dad.  Bye, Mom."  He cut off the phone before she could get a word in.  For whatever reason, his mother was driving him nuts lately.  He didn't want to go see the development for the umpteenth time.  Something about that model home gave him the creeps these days, and he couldn't put his finger on why.

             He paced the space between his bed and the wall as he waited for his father to pick up.  "Hello?"  
            "Hey, Dad-"

            "Seth!  Hi!  You on the road yet?"  
            "No.  Um, listen, I can't find my ATM card."  
            He heard the gasp as Sandy realized.  "I never gave that back?"  
            "No.  Thanks, Dad.  I gotta leave, like, now."  
            "Got any cash?"  
            "Yeah, like, eighty."  
            There was a small silence.  Seth threw himself backwards on the bed, closing his eyes as he landed with a bounce.  "You need a card."

            "Tell me about it."  He heard his father sighing into the phone.  

            "Look, Seth, I'm in the 909 all day."  Seth wrinkled his nose at the receiver.  His dad trying to use slang was just no use.  But now was not the time to harass him about it.  "I can't come home."  
            "Well, you know, I could get more cash if you told me where your secret stash was."  
            "Right.  Wrong.  You need a card," Sandy said firmly, and Seth scowled at the phone.

            "Okay.  Look," Seth said.  "It's not that far out of my way.  How about I drop by your office?"  
            His father hesitated.  "Oh, your mother's gonna love that."

            "We'll tell her we met at McDonald's or something.  I dunno."  
            "Even better."

            Seth had to crack a grin as he grabbed for the notepad on his desk, and his fingers landed on a pen.  "So, tell me how I get to your office again?  C'mon."


	2. Chapter Two

            "You're really leavin', huh?"  
            He looked up from where he'd been fiddling with the lock on his namesake bike.  Of course she'd find him.

            "Yeah," he said, turning back to the lock.  Trying to forget the small, round, appealing form standing beside him, because there was just no point, as open to him as she was, he had to close off, had to shut down.

            "I wanna go to Texas, too," she said suddenly.

            "Not a two-seater, hon."  
            "Don't _call_ me that," she snapped, and his head snapped up in surprise.  "'Hon'.  Like you care."  
            "Don't do this," he replied, entering the last number of the combination.  He popped it open and wove the lock out of the spokes of his wheel carefully.

            "I thought we had somethin', Bike."  
            "I wish we did."  

            From the corner of her eye, he thought he saw her mouth twitch.  "So that's how it is, huh?"  
            "Look, you're a good girl, I hope everything turns out okay-"

            "Bastard!"  The Finger launched herself at him.  He threw himself away from the bike in surprise, but still collided heavily with one wheel.  He felt the sickening thud of bone against bent spokes, the damage to the bike alarming him much more than the sudden pain in his knee.

            She was wailing on him now, and he automatically turned over to instinct, trying to block her without hurting her too much.  He had to consciously remind himself she was a girl – The Finger knew how to fight.  They always did move well together.  She was right about that much.

            Without warning, she collapsed to the grass in tears.  He pried his head up from the ground cautiously.  He could still move his neck.  Always a good sign.

            "Listen, Fing, you'll find someone-"

            She shook her head, turning away from him as he pulled his head all the way up to look at her.

            "So will you," she managed to say.  She pried herself up as well, all the way to a standing position, still looking away.

            "Fing?" he asked, as she began to slink away.  She stopped, not turning to look at him.  "What's your real name?"  
            She waited a long time, standing there with her back to him.  Long enough that he went back on his guard, worried that she was gonna attack him again.  

            "Melanie," she finally said softly.

            "That's a pretty name."  
            She issued a small, irritated noise.

            "I'm Ryan," he offered.  She listened and heard the words before she disappeared, fleeing his life forever.

            Ryan watched her go, then summoned up the courage at last to turn and look.

            He felt the pain in his knee and saw the misshapen wheel, and felt a sinking dread.

            He couldn't decide yet which was worse, so rather than choose, he laid his head back on the grass and closed his eyes, shutting out the world around him.

*

            The door down the hill opened a millisecond after he stepped out.  Seth fought hard not to look.

            "C'mon, it's the best idea _ever_!"  Summer's voice came tinkling over the hill.

            "I don't know-"  
            He squinted, frozen on the front step.  He shouldn't be so into Summer, he knew full well Anna would be coming home soon, and things were finally looking up, "up" translating to more-than-platonic.  And Summer had never given him the time of day.  So why couldn't he get over her already?

            Marissa turned and glanced his way before quickly looking in the other direction.  Startled, Seth set himself back into motion, opening the Range Rover and tossing his duffel bag into the back seat.  He was momentarily glad his father wasn't home to nag him – Dad was nervous enough about this trip and Seth was dreading the rendezvous enough as it was.

            "Hey!" 

            Seth froze as he slammed the door shut.  Was that Summer?  Addressing him?  Surely not.

            "Tell Coop the beach is better than your bedroom!"  
            "Summer, no!"  But Marissa was laughing.  At him?

            "Then… my…?"  Seth stared down the hill at them, confused.  Something was not connecting.  "_Bed_room?"

            "See?  Even he says so!" Summer squealed, then lowered her voice.  "What's that kid's name again?"  
            "Oh, you know Seth-"

            It was all he heard before he leapt into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him.  He didn't want to hear the rest.

            His parents and Marissa's were fighting now, anyway.  Or he suspected so.  He knew his parents had something to do with Mr. Cooper's little investment scandal, but as usual, they were trying to convince him everything was okay.  

            He started the ignition and edged the Range Rover out of the driveway.

*

            Ryan's fingers struggled to ply the metal back into shape.  It was useless.  He released the rim and noted dully how his fingers were trembling, but the wheel was still a wreck.

            He pulled himself to his feet then, ignoring the sharp protest from his knee, and stood the bike up.  With a slight, brief wish, he pushed it forward.

            _Tch… tch… tch… klonk._

Frustrated, he stepped forward and pushed again.

            _Tch… tch… tch… klonk._

            With a great shove, the bike tumbled to the ground again.  He wanted to kick it but couldn't decide which leg to use, so instead he ripped off his jacket and threw it at the bike with all his might.  It caught the handlebars and draped itself around them.

            Staying was not an option.  Not now.  He couldn't face Dave, or The Finger, or anyone else.  Not now.  Not anymore.

            He had to get out of here.  Okay, so biking across four desert states maybe wasn't the greatest idea he'd ever come up with.  And now it wasn't even possible.  That bike was the one thing keeping him from feeling like all the other punk kids out here.  A bike.  An escape route.  A way out.  And now that way out had a warped wheel…

            Time to get it together.  Ryan took a deep, shuddering breath, and picked his coat back up, then his backpack, still on the ground where he'd left it.  He plodded over to the bench and settled himself on it, stretching out his knee, trying to ride out the severe pain.

            A careful glance assured him that he was alone, and he pulled out his wallet to do a quick count.  He had seventeen dollars and thirty-eight cents on him.  Not bad.  Not great.

            How much was a bus ticket to Texas these days, anyway?  Not to mention he didn't even know if Benny was still there.  Or would want to speak to him.  But at least it would be somewhere new, somewhere he didn't have to worry about seeing anyone he knew.

            He had enough money for food for a couple of days, if he budgeted right.  Enough to get him to Austin, if he could swing a free trip.  He wasn't even hungry now.  He could do to this.

            First step, though, was to say goodbye to the bike, and in the same note, say goodbye to Bike.  He took a deep breath as he reached for his bike for the last time, wincing against the pain of it all.

*

            "Seth!  Hey there!  Hold on."

            Seth shifted his weight as he stood in the entryway.  Dad's office was so much smaller than Mom's, but so much more intimidating.  

            "Sure.  Right," Sandy was saying into the phone.  "I understand.  But c'mon, Paul.  What are the odds of us ever seeing him again?  At this point-"  He let his mouth hang open and Seth could hear the burst of noise, the protest, from across the room.  His father fought to get a word in.  "Look, it's a jungle out there.  Believe me, I want to find him more than anyone, but once they slip away, especially with no sign of his m-"  Sandy glanced up at Seth and a resigned expression crossed his face.  "Right.  Well, if I hear anything, you'll be the first to know.  Hey, tell Reena I said hi.  Sure.  I will.  Later."  He tossed the phone into the receiver in disgust, burying his face in his hands for a moment.

            "You okay, Dad?"  
            Sandy snapped his head up.  "I'm fine.  I don't know about this kid, though."  He gestured at the folder open on his desk before closing it.  "It happens.  ATM card, right?"  He reached for his wallet and flipped through.  "Ah.  There ya go."  
            "Thanks."  Seth accepted the card.

            "Now, you got gas?"  
            Seth held up a hand.  "Dad.  Don't start."  
            "Forgive me.  Sometimes this job just brings out my overprotective side."  
            "Brings out?" Seth snorted.

            "You look at enough of these cases…"  He stared down at the closed file folder, shaking his head.  Seth tried to nod with sympathy.  "Smart kids.  Good kids, Seth.  You don't know how lucky you are."  
            Seth tried not to show his impatience.  He was pretty sure he was failing.  "Sure I do, Dad.  So, have a great weekend.  I'll see you Sunday night?"  
            Sandy held a hand up, pointing loosely.  "Don't spend too much on stuff you're gonna put in a box and never see again."  
            He inched towards the door.  "Bye, Dad."  
            "Yeah, yeah, I get it.  Get outta here.  Have a blast."  
            Relieved, Seth backed out of the office and down the hall.


	3. Chapter Three

            Ryan brushed a sheaf of hair from his eyes.  He needed a haircut.  Should have had The Finger do it before he took off.  Fing.  Melanie.  For some reason, the name Melanie, he pictured a bubbly six year old, some mom's pride and joy.  Not The Finger, with her straight, flouncy hair and dazed look.  The Finger never told him how she ended up at the park.  He really didn't want to know.  None of them ever really talked about why they were there.  None of them really wanted to talk about it.

            He eyed the passing cars.  He couldn't be too choosy.  Getting from here to Austin, no telling how long it would take.  And he'd better get cracking on it if he only had seventeen dollars and thirty-eight cents to keep him from starving before he got a job.  Hesitantly, he stuck his thumb out, trying not to look too threatening, which was difficult with him standing all funny because of his knee.

            A car full of girls noticed him first, and he saw them giggling as they passed.  Laughing at him?  Flirting?  Flirting would do them no good unless they actually picked him up, which he wasn't necessarily opposed to, but they were already long gone.

            He made eye contact with another woman a moment later, her car full of kids.  She looked… sorry for him, but he got it.  You don't take a hitchhiker when you have the kids in the car.  She had no way of knowing what he'd do.

            He knew that.  Still didn't take the sting away.

            He lowered his arm for a moment.  This could take awhile.

            It was then that the truck pulled over to the shoulder.  He leapt back instinctively, shifting his weight, mostly on to his good knee, as the truck lumbered towards him.

            He peered at the guy in the driver's seat.  Big, disheveled, a little creepy, but definitely willing.  And that was worth something.

            "Where to?"  
            "On the way to Austin?"  His voice cracked a little.  Nerves.  
            "Texas?" the guy asked.  "Yeah.  Get in."  
            Ryan started to open the door, then stopped.  He looked at the guy again.  Something in the man's smile made him somehow uneasy.

            "You gonna get in or not, kid?" the guy asked impatiently.

            Ryan fingered the door handle, then made a quick, impulsive decision.  He opened it, easing himself and his backpack into the car.

            "There ya go," the guy said, and Ryan caught his breath.  "So, I can get you to Santa Ana."  
            "Great, that's – that'll do."  He licked his lips as he settled on the seat.

            He fastened the seatbelt, still clutching his bag tightly.  When the truck didn't move, he looked over at the guy, his senses still on high alert.

            The guy was looking at him expectantly.  Leering…?  Expecting what exactly?  Ryan's hand hesitated over the seatbelt.

            "You know what, never mind," he muttered in a rush, releasing the catch.  He inched out from under the seatbelt and lurched for the door handle.

            "Hey!"

            Ryan froze.

            "Whatsa matter?"  
            Ryan fumbled for the words.  His fingers tightened around the straps of his bag.  "I… I changed my mind is all…"  He saw it, he saw the flash of danger that validated his instincts, as he jumped into action again, throwing the door open, as the man grabbed for him, hands clutching, jowls jiggling, smile turning sinister…

            "C'mere, ya little…"  
            The truck was already moving somehow, and his good knee hit the ground first, his bag tumbling down on top of him as he leapt from the cab.  Ryan scrambled to his feet quickly, on highest alert, and took off for the trees, moving as fast as he could.

            He tore forward several feet into the brush before even daring to stop to catch his breath.  When he did, he noted with relief that the truck had at least taken off without him.  The guy gave up.

            Nevertheless, he sat down where he was, secluded from the highway.

            After that?  It was time for a break.

*

"I roll the window down," Seth sang along softly.  "and then begin to breathe in…"  His head swayed a little with the music.  His fingers tapped on the wheel.  Solitude was nice.  Usually.  It'd be better to have someone with him.  Summer, for example, though she'd never in her life be caught dead going to a Comic Con.  Anna, maybe.  He smiled as he tapped his fingers listlessly.  

            "The darkest country road… "  

            Being alone was okay.

            "And the strong scent of evergreen, from the passenger seat, as you are driving me home…"  

            He drove right past him the first time.  The kid in the gray jacket, straggling along the road, black coat in one hand, red bookbag in the other.

            He drove right past, but the odd synchrony of it struck him somehow.  Here he was, wanting company.  Here the kid was, clearly in need of some himself, limping a bit, and as his dad never failed to remind him, other kids weren't as lucky as he was.  About time he helped someone out.

            And so he turned the car around.

*

            Ryan backed up slowly.  He'd seen the Range Rover pass him, then circle around, making a U-turn a little ways up before it rolled up beside him.  He approached it apprehensively.

            The passenger side window scrolled down automatically, revealing nothing but a skinny kid in a designer vintage t-shirt.  Slow piano music, odd little rock vocal, nothing too offensive.  So far, so-

            "Hey," the kid said, before Ryan could get it out himself.

            Ryan squinted at him.  "Hey?"  
            "Need a ride?"  
            Ryan surveyed the situation.  Looked like the kid had money, so hopefully he wouldn't want Ryan's.  And he could take him in a fight if he absolutely had to, the kid had a few upper arm muscles, but Ryan definitely had the build advantage.  And the sun would be setting soon, and he was too far to get back to the park and Dave and The Finger and the warped bike even if he wanted to go backward instead of forward.

            And so he shrugged.

            He clambered into the passenger seat and pulled the door behind him, breathing a small sigh or relief when the kid pulled the car off the shoulder, back into traffic.

            "Where you goin', you okay?"

            Ryan blinked.  Was that one question or two…?  "Texas.  Fine.  Where are you headed?"  
            "San Diego, Comic Con…"  Off Ryan's surprised look, he pressed on.  "It's gonna be cool this year, Hugh Jackman is gonna be there, and Matt Groenig, and Neil…"  Ryan continued to stare at him blankly, and the kid trailed off.  "You know, Matt Groenig, The Simpsons?"

            "Sounds like… fun?" Ryan said, slightly meaning it.

            "You into comic books?"  
            He shrugged again, shuffling his feet to avoid kicking the cooler parked on the floor.  "I mean, not really."  
            "I got some in that box in the backseat if you get bored."  
            Ryan glanced from the box to the kid's face, then down again.  "Thanks."  
            "Great way to pass the time."  
            "Yeah."  
            "So, uh, what are you going to Texas for?"  
            "I got family there… sort of."  He didn't want to elaborate, and the kid didn't make him.

            "I got food, too, if you're hungry.  In the cooler there.  I bought it myself.  I mean – uh, yeah."  He had started to say something else, but stopped himself.

            Ryan glanced at the bright orange cooler at his feet.  The kid didn't look like the type to poison anything.  And if he was, he had a heck of a good game plan and Ryan had to give him credit for it.  Might as well get mass murdered if the murderer was this smart.  There were plenty worse fates.  Maybe he'd even be famous for it.  "You don't mind?  I actually-"

            "No, no, go ahead," the kid urged him.

            There was a time for pride and a time to suck it up.  Ryan reached for the cooler and pried the lid off.

            It was like a convenience store had exploded.  Coke, Mountain Dew, bottled water, granola bars, gum, goldfish crackers, Ritz crackers, miniature candy bars.  Ryan pulled out a granola bar, a handful of crackers and a Mountain Dew before closing the lid.  Jackpot.  The seventeen thirty-eight was safe in his wallet for a few more hours.

            "Thanks," he said before tossing the first cracker into his mouth.

            "No problem.  I'm not gonna eat all that myself, or I hope not.  It's my mom," he said apologetically, "she kind of goes overboard with stuff, well, you know how moms are…"  Did he?  "Cause I've never gone to this thing alone before, see, it's like my dad used to drive me, right?  But he has to work this week, and I have my license now, so I'm just going alone-"

            Ryan found his edginess slowly disappearing as the kid rambled.  It felt comfortable, somehow.  Familiar.  It had been all of two minutes and he already couldn't help but like the kid.  Maybe it was just the food talking.

            "-I just hafta be absolutely sure I don't forget to – are you okay?"  
            "Yeah," Ryan said suddenly.  He shifted in his seat.  "Yeah.  Hey-"

            "What?"  
            "How would your mom feel about you picking up hitchhikers?"

"Oh, dude.  You're totally not a hitchhiker."

Ryan wrinkled his nose.  "I'm not?"

"No.  You didn't have your thumb out.  It doesn't count."

Ryan leaned his head back in the seat.  "Seriously, man."

            "She'd…"  He smiled and shook his head wistfully.  "She'd say I was taking after my dad."  
            Ryan had to smile somewhat at that.  "Yeah?"  
            "Yeah.  He's a public defender.  Juvenile court.  Help the hopeless and all that."  
            Ryan was struck by a sudden odd thought.  Surely not.  He squinted at the kid and tilted his head sideways.  No.  Forget it.  

            "What's your name?" he asked.

            "Seth," the kid said.  

            "Seth?  Aight.  I'm-"  He stopped.  "I'm Bike," he said finally.

            "Mike?"  
            "No.  Bike.  Like bicycle."  Ryan shrugged.  "Used to have one."  
            "What happened?"  
            "It, ah, broke," he said vaguely.  

            "Uh, okay," Seth said, sounding a little bemused.  "I'm not really a bike person myself.  More of a skateboard kind of guy."  
            "Now see," Ryan said, sitting up, "I cannot for the life of me figure out the appeal of a skateboard."  
            "Really?  Dude, you have got to be kidding."  
            "I mean, you're standing up, you have to keep your balance, it's all about making it flip around underneath your feet.  You don't really go anywhere."  
            "No!  You don't get it!  It's all about speed, aerodynamics, the thrill of the movement underneath your feet."  
            "How about actually taking you somewhere?"  
            "Well," Seth said, considering, "That's what Range Rovers are for."  For the first time in quite some time, Ryan felt himself smiling. Really smiling.  "Anyway, my board gets me to where I need to go. The car's my mom's, you know, it's not really mine.  I don't have a car.  I get by."  
            "Oh," Ryan said, not sure what else to say, but sensing that a response was in order.  He'd finished the goldfish crackers now, so he set to work unwrapping the granola bar.  This kid Seth was a gold mine in more ways than one.

            "You like Death Cab?"  
            Ryan stared at Seth, not comprehending.  He thought of the trucker he'd just scuffled with.  "_What_?"  
            Seth looked at him like he was five before tapping the stereo.  "The _music._"

            "Oh," Ryan said again.  "Yeah.  The music.  It's fine."  
            "I got more CD's down there if you want to change it out.  I'll listen to anything in that case.  Oh, unless Dad put his Simon and Garfunkel in there again, he does it sometimes to piss me off.  For a joke, you know?  I can't stand them, Paul Simon's voice drives me crazy.  He thinks it's funny."  
            Ryan was already eating the granola bar, with no intention of changing the music, trying not to look _too_ hungry. 

            "So, have you been to Texas before?" Seth asked abruptly.

            Ryan shook his head and swallowed.  "Nope.  Never left California, actually."  
            "You're kidding," he gaped.

            "I mean, I figure it can't be too different, right?  They speak English, a little Spanish?"  
            "What, are you bilingual?"  
            "No, I don't speak a word." Ryan grinned at him.  "I'm not real good with languages."  
            "Really?  What'd you take in school?"  
            Ryan had to think for a moment.  "French?"  
            Seth glanced at him, thinking his words through carefully for a long, silent moment.  "You still in school?"  
            Ryan busied himself with the granola wrapper.  "…Not really.  No."

            "How old _are_ you?"  
            He thought his own words through carefully now.  "Sixteen," he said finally.  No point in lying about it.  Bike had unofficially been almost eighteen as far as everyone else was concerned, but this Bike didn't feel quite so defensive.

            "Yeah?  Me, too.  That's funny."  Seth paused, and Ryan suddenly had the strange sensation that Seth was trying all at once to comprehend why a sixteen-year-old ho longer in school would be hitchhiking to a strange new place.  He didn't like that train of thought so much.  But he couldn't think of anything to say to disrupt it, so he just let Seth's words hang there in the silence.

            "I'm better at math," Ryan finally said around the granola bar.

            "So, you, like dropped out?" Seth asked, his voice unusually steady and even.

            "Um.  No," Ryan said.  "I mean, yeah, I guess, well – it's summer, nobody's in school, right?"  He wrinkled the Kudos wrapper in his hand and searched for a moment before locating the garbage bag, a plastic shopping bag tucked behind the cooler.  He disposed of the wrapper and promptly set to work on opening the Mountain Dew.

            Seth was quiet for a few more moments.  "Maybe in Austin you'll have a new school?"

            Ryan lowered his drink.  "Sure.  Maybe."  
            If Seth found this odd, he didn't say anything.  Instead, he focused on changing lanes a couple of times.

            "So, do you want me to let you out before San Diego?"

            "No, it's fine.  I'll just catch a ride there is all."  
            Seth wrinkled his nose.  "Okay.  Sure."  
            "Why?  What's the matter?"  
            "I just – it doesn't seem safe is all," he mumbled.

            Ryan sighed.  "Look, if I wanted a lecture about hitchhiking, I'd…"  His voice trailed off.  He glanced at Seth, who had clearly caught his reluctance to finish the sentence.  Embarrassed, Ryan closed the drink and set it in the drink holder, then maneuvered to strip off the two jackets he was wearing.  He wadded them together and placed them between his head and the window.  "You know, I'm tired, mind if I…"

            "Go right ahead," Seth said quietly.  "Is the music gonna bother…?"  
            "No, no," Ryan said, adjusting his makeshift pillow.  "It's fine.  Everything's… fine."

            He stared out the window at the billboards zooming by, the smiling, happy model faces.  At least for a little while, everything really was okay.  


	4. Chapter Four

            Seth sipped the water bottle slowly, trying hard not to stare at Bike.  He wasn't entirely sure what to make of the kid.  On the one hand, circumstances and the tough nickname indicated he should be on his guard.  But his instincts and the kid's thoughtful demeanor somehow made him think otherwise.  Bike really wasn't all that scary.  Just a kid, a kid who liked Mountain Dew and goldfish, even if he didn't like comic books or skateboarding.  He was still a kid.

            He closed the water and set it in the drink holder beside Bike's half-empty Mountain Dew.  Less than an hour had passed since he'd noticed him walking along the highway, and already he liked him better than most of the kids from Newport.  He wondered what Bike and Anna would think of each other, then realized it was a moot point.

            A guy like Bike could really shake things up in a place like Newport.  Seth grinned as he toyed with the idea.  Everybody was so full of themselves, so far removed from reality.  His smile disappeared.  This _was_ reality.  

            Bike had to be running away from something.  Even Seth could see that.  But from what?  Trouble?  Bad home?  He didn't seem all that awful.  He also didn't seem all that likely to offer up his life history.  Which was fine.  

            Though Seth really did want to know.

            His eyes flicked across the dials behind his wheel, then landed again on the gas tank.  Crap.  Time for a refill.

            He heard a small snore beside him and immediately grinned.  So he wasn't the only one being caught off his guard.  Then his grin faded as he considered the _why_ factor of Bike's willingness to sleep in a strange car.  It didn't bode well for the guy.

            Seth could never do it.  As much as he adored Kerouac, he wanted to see America from his own car, boat, bike, whatever.  He didn't think he could accept a ride with strangers.

            But maybe Bike had thought that once, too.  And he was doing okay now.  And they weren't strangers anymore.  Not so much.

            Bike stirred slightly on the seat beside him.

            Seth ventured a quiet, "Hey."  
            Bike rolled in his direction and opened his eyes.

            "I'm stopping for gas, you need anything?"  
            "Could use a restroom," Bike grumbled.

"Food, anything?"  Seth leaned gently on the accelerator, trumping the cruise control.  
            Bike glanced at the cooler.  "No, I'm good.  Thanks."  
            "We could grab dinner.  I'm not in a rush."  Seth was about to offer to pay, then realized that was probably a bad idea, and kept his mouth shut.  Better to wait until they were actually smelling the food.  Make it harder to refuse.

"Me, neither.  Thought you were excited about this comic thing."  Bike's eyes were almost accusatory.  Like he could see right through Seth.  Intense, penetrating.

"I am!" Seth protested, feeling defensive all of a sudden.  "It's just… I go every year, you know?  And somehow, going alone, without my dad…"  
            "What about your friends?  None of them wanted to come?"  
            "Well, I mean…"  Seth lifted his fingers to his mouth as he searched for the words.  "The only person who'd really go with me, my friend Anna, she's on a sailing trip.  I mean, she'd love this."  
            "So you wish she was here," Bike offered.

            "Yeah.  Guess so."  
            The corner of his mouth turned up a little.  "You guys been friends for a long time?"  
            "Not really.  She… she kinda just moved here."  
            "How long have you been here?"  
            "In Newport?"  
            Bike thumped his head back on the seat.  "Shit.  No way.  You're from Newport?  Shoulda figured."

            "Um, gee, thanks?" Seth asked, doing a double-take.  "Ten years Newport.  I was born in Berkeley, though.  You?"  
            "Chino, by way of Fresno."  
            Seth raised his eyebrows.  "Really?  Chino, my dad works in Chino.  How is it?"  
            "Well, you'll notice that I'm not there now."  
            Seth laughed.  "Right.  And I'm not in Newport now, and you know what?  If my parents weren't there?  I wouldn't be going back."  His face had already darkened.  "I can't stand Newport."  
            "It's that bad?"  
            "Oh, hell, yeah," Seth said without thinking.

            "You don't have _any_ friends?"  
            "I have friends," Seth said defensively.  He stiffened in his seat.  "I'm not a total loser."  
            "No, I mean-"  
            "It's okay-"

            "I didn't mean that, I meant… I mean I can imagine.  You're probably way too cool for those Newport freaks, right?"  
            Seth snorted as he swung the car off onto the exit ramp.  "Yeah.  Uh huh."  
            "What?  No, I'm serious," Bike said, apparently confused.  He straightened up in his seat, bringing the jackets down into his lap.  "It's their loss."  
            "Thanks," Seth said dryly.

            "No, I mean it," he insisted again.  "Look, I wish I had more friends like you.  My friends?  They're useless.  They couldn't help me out when I needed it, let alone pick up a total stranger.  That takes guts, man."  He suddenly stopped and stared down at his hands, as though he wished he hadn't just said something.

            Seth wasn't quite sure what to say.  "Um, how's this place look?"

            "Works for me."  
            He pulled the Rover over at the gas station and hopped out, busying himself with pumping the gas.  Bike hopped out as well, taking off across the parking lot for the bathroom.  Seth grimaced at the thought.  Fortunately he'd made a pit stop only a couple of hours before and didn't need to face this one.  Didn't look too pleasant, but better than the alternatives down the road.  These little highway exits could be a nightmare.

            Seth looked back at Bike, suddenly surprised to realize that he was carrying his whole bookbag with him.  What the hell did a guy need a bookbag in the bathroom for?  He wrinkled his forehead as he watched him disappear into the store.  He didn't really think Seth would touch it, did he?

Bike re-emerged a couple of minutes later, loping across the parking lot.  He reached for something in his pocket, then stopped, pulling his hand back.  

            "Are you okay, dude?"  Seth asked.  "You look kinda... are you hurt?"  
            "I'm fine," Bike said dismissively.  "Just got a bad knee is all."  He leaned against the passenger door, stretching, rubbing the bad knee as Seth watched the price of his gas climb.

            "Look," Seth said carefully over the car, staring at Bike on the other side.  "I got enough time to drive you to Austin.  If you want."  
            "Naw, it's fine.  You got your comic… thing."  
            "I don't care," Seth said, and Bike popped around to the front of the car all of a sudden, looking concerned.  "I mean it.  I don't want to go all of a sudden."  
            "I'll be fine.  Chill out."  
            "I'd _rather_ drive you."  
            Bike looked tense all of a sudden.  "I said I'd rather you didn't."  
            Seth heard the pump click off.  He didn't move.  "Why not?"  
            "Because… does it matter?"  
            "Yes.  It does."  
            Bike sighed and looked away.  "I don't want to owe anybody anything, okay?  I don't take favors."  
            "Why n-?"

            "Because then you expect something in return."  
            Seth stared at him.  "I don't expect anything."  
            "Oh, yeah?"  
            "Just a friend."

            Bike snorted, still staring off a long ways into the distance.  "You think I'm gonna believe that."  
            "No.  Not really.  But it's true."  
            Bike looked back at him for a long moment.  Their eyes locked, and for a second, Seth thought he'd won, maybe he'd bought it.

            "I don't trust anybody."  
            Seth removed the pump from the car and hung it back in the cradle.  "That's sad, dude," he said carefully to the pump.

            "Maybe.  But it's just the way the world is.  You know?"  
            "No, I don't."  Seth turned back to him.  "I trust you."  
            Bike snorted.  "No, you don't."  
            Seth didn't blink.  "Want to bet?" he asked without missing a beat.

            Bike wrinkled his nose.  "So we're gambling now?"  
            Exasperated, Seth opened the driver's side door to produce his wallet.  He dug through, pulled out a twenty for the gas, then slammed the door.  "Here."  He hurled the wallet at Bike, who fumbled the catch in surprise.  He dropped down, his fingers tightened close around the wallet, and he straightened back up to stare at Seth in surprise.

            "Here," Seth said again, holding up both fingers for emphasis.  "I am going in there, and I'm coming back out, and I _trust_ that you and that will still be here."  
            Bike stared in amazement.  He glanced from Seth to the Range Rover to the wallet, and back again.

            "If I'm not?"  
            Seth clenched his jaw.  "Then I guess you'll prove me wrong."  
            He turned on his heel and marched towards the convenience store, his face still firmly set.  He didn't dare turn around.  Part of him was angry at Bike for doubting him, and part of him was angry at himself for doing such a _stupid_ thing like leaving his wallet with a street kid, hitchhiker, stranger, whatever he was, full of cash and all his cards.  And part was angry at himself for doubting Bike like that.  But he couldn't help it – he just wasn't sure.  As much as he wanted to be.

            He forked the twenty over to the fat lady behind the counter, accepted his change, and took a deep breath as he started back out for the car.  The car was still there.  He breathed a sigh of relief.

            And Bike was still there.

            Seth moved around the side of the car, and suddenly felt very confused.  Bike was standing there, staring at Seth's open wallet, a big uncharacteristic grin on his face.

            "…What's so funny?"  
            Bike had started to laugh a little, low convulsions.  He held up the pictures that had tumbled out of wallet in their clear plastic covering.  He was pointing to the holiday card picture from three years ago, Seth in braces with his mom and dad.

            "This," Bike managed to get out as Seth stared at him, perplexed.  "This is your dad?"  
            "Yeah.  Why?" Seth asked defensively.

            Bike only laughed harder, leaning against the Range Rover for support.

            "What's so funny?  I mean, yeah, okay, the eyebrows, but-"

            "No, no.  You don't get it," he said.  "Your dad.  The lawyer."  
            Seth folded his arms.  "Dude.  I have heard every lawyer joke in the book, you couldn't offend me if you tried."  
            Bike shook his head and held up a hand to quiet him.  As Seth waited patiently, he dug in his pocket, producing several empty gum wrappers, a cigarette lighter, a Swiss Army knife, two safety pins, and finally, a small, beaten business card.  He offered the card out along with the wallet, which Seth hesitantly accepted.  

            He looked at the card in confusion.  He knew the card.  He knew the handwriting.  He knew the phone number scribbled on it.  He didn't know why it had come from Bike's pocket and not his own.  "Where did you get this?  Why do you have my dad's cell number?"  
            "He's my lawyer," Bike said.  He'd finally stopped laughing.

            "He's your what?"  
            Bike shrugged.  "Had a case a few weeks back, he was my public defender. Swear to god.  Sandy, right?  Sandy Cohen?"  
            Seth nodded.  "You're serious?"

            "I couldn't make this shit up if I tried."  
            It took a moment to sink in.  It was a weird coincidence.  It was fate.  It totally made sense.  After a moment, Seth grinned at him, and Bike eyed him back.  "So that settles it.  It's a sign."

            "Of what?"  Bike's eyes narrowed automatically.

            "That we're sticking together.  I'll drive you to Austin."  
            "But I said-"

            "You didn't run off with my money."  
            "Maybe I was gonna," Bike shot back defensively.

            "And you didn't.  So it's settled."  Seth's grin slowly relaxed.  "Look.  Friends, real friends, they help each other for no good reason, and right now?  I'd much rather have a friend then go to some stupid comic book convention alone."

            Bike was confused.  "But you already paid for it, right?"

            Seth snapped his fingers.  "I got it.  It's late.  We'll check into the hotel for tonight, pick up in the morning, get you the rest of the way to Austin."  
            "I _said_ I don't wanna-"

            "So, what, you just gonna _walk_ the rest of the way to Texas?"  Seth's words overpowered Bike's, and the two of them stood there, staring at each other in the flickering flourescent lighting off the gas station.

            "No," Bike finally said, feebly.

            "Now we're talkin'," Seth said.

            He opened the driver's side door, and nodded to Bike, who made his way around to the passenger seat.  He climbed in as Seth started up the car, and within moments, the Range Rover was off again.


	5. Chapter Five

            Ryan's heart pounded in his chest as his eyes skimmed the road ahead of them.

            In a way, this was good.  Food, place to crash, somebody who didn't seem like he wanted to beat him, rob him, or fuck him.  Better than he'd had the last few weeks.  

            But in a way, this was really, really bad.  He was trying to get away, and somehow accepting this felt like a devil's bargain.  Tying him down.  Committing him.  Sure, it was just a ride, but so much was at stake.  For him?  It was everything.

            "Hey, listen," he said.  Seth looked up quizzically.  "You... you can't tell your dad about this.  Ever."  
            "Why not?" Seth pressed.  He was gentle, but Ryan still shifted in his seat, awkwardly, wishing he wouldn't dig like that.

            "It's complicated, but..."  Ryan sighed reluctantly.  "That case?  That he was representin' me on?  It's not really..."  He rolled his head over to look at Seth.  "Finished."  
            Seth, for his part, managed to contain most of his reaction, limiting it to a simple raise of the eyebrows, only a minor giveaway.  "Aha."  Yeah, Seth got it.  He might be sheltered, but the kid wasn't stupid.  
            "So..."  
            "So?"  Seth considered this.  "Okay.  I won't tell my dad.  Deal, on one condition."  
            "Yeah?"  
            "Just answer a couple of questions for me.  Yes or no."  
            Ryan shrugged.  He chewed on his lip.

            "Did you kill somebody?"  
            "What?  No!  I – no!"  He sat straight up in the seat, leaning back against the door.

            "Didn't think so, Dad doesn't usually get those.  Okay.  Did you hurt somebody?"  
            "Nah.  Nobody was involved except for – no."  No details, smart-ass.  Ryan thudded his head back on the headrest.  "I didn't hurt anybody.  I swear."  He waited patiently.  "Anything else?" he prompted, finally.

            "Nope," Seth said.  He shook his head, looking perfectly relaxed now that it was all out in the open.  "Good deal.  No tattling here.  You want to skip town, fine by me."  He paused.  "That's not _why_ you're skipping town, is it?"  
            "Not... exactly, no," Ryan said, considering this.  "I mean, it all kind of happened at once."

            "What happened at once?"  
            Ryan snapped his head towards Seth.  "Everything.  How much farther to San Diego?"  The words came out in a rush.  Talking about the past was not on his agenda for the evening.

"About an hour," Seth said, looking somewhat thrown by the abrupt change of topic.  "I figure it'll be about eight-thirty by the time we get to the hotel.  Maybe we can grab some burgers or something."

            "Um, maybe," Ryan said.  Should he accept?  Was Seth offering to pay?  And more importantly, was that safe?

            "Watch a little TV.  Rest up."

            "Yeah," Ryan said, trying not to show how relieved he was.  "Yeah.  Why not."  It had been a few weeks since he'd slept in a real bed, and he missed it something terrible.  The first couple of nights had been so awful, he thought he'd never get used to it.  Turned out he was right.  He never had.  He hadn't slept a solid night the entire time he'd been hanging around the park, not even the nights he spent curled up with The Finger underneath the warm summer moon.  He was spoiled rotten.  He wanted a bed.  He wanted darkness.  He wanted silence.  He wanted peace and quiet.  He couldn't just pass out on a bench somewhere the way Dave could. 

            "Now, surely you like TV," Seth said, almost patronizing.

            But somehow, it didn't bother him.  "Yeah, course I do," he said.  

            "Anything in particular?"  
            "Whatever's on."  
            "Dude. You are way too accommodating."  
            Ryan scratched his eyebrow.  "You got a problem with that or something?"  
            "Matter of fact, I do.  Here."  Seth reached over with his right arm and grabbed ahold of the CD case, which he hurled at Ryan, who caught it in surprise.  "You pick something out."  
            "But I don't-"  He fumbled with the zipper.

            "_Make_ a decision already," Seth prodded.  

            Ryan stared at him for a long moment.  "Yeah, okay," he agreed finally, unzipping the case and starting to flip through.

            "Something you _like_," Seth continued.  "Don't try to make me happy.  Quit being so damn agreeable."  
            "I wasn't being agreeable a few minutes ago," Ryan pointed out.  "Back there."  
            Seth shrugged dismissively.  "Just pick the music out already."  
            "Picking, picking," Ryan muttered.  "Jesus.  You're tough."

            "Better," Seth said, satisfied.

            Ryan flipped through, eventually landing on a CD blindly and leaning forward to insert it into the CD player.  Seth leaned forward to read it as it slipped into the depths of the car.

            "Okay," he said approvingly.  "Good call.  Now, is this something you like?"  
            "Yes," Ryan said automatically.

            Seth shook his head.  "You are such a liar.  Dude."  
            "What? I-"  
            "There is no way that you like Smashing Pumpkins."  
            "Do too."

            Seth smirked at him.  "It wasn't Smashing Pumpkins, dude, it was Fountains of Wayne.  Why don't you try looking at the CD next time, huh?"  
            Ryan rolled his eyes.  "Okay.  Caught.  Look, it's your car, you pick the music.  Swear to god.  I.  Don't.  Care."  
            "See?  Like I said.  You are way too eager to please."  
            Ryan sighed aloud.  "Yeah," he said.  "Yeah, that's my problem.  Too much pleasing."  He was trying to keep the sarcastic edge out of his voice, but it wasn't easy. Seth shot him a worried look.  He hesitated.  "I kinda like this song," he offered. 

            An electronic tune started up at Ryan's feet and he jumped, startled.  "Oh, right," Seth said, "sorry, that's my cell phone.  Can you pull that out?"  
            Ryan shifted the cooler and found the ringing, silver object, tossed carelessly on the floor, which he passed to Seth obligingly.  Seth glanced at the caller ID and held a finger up to Ryan.  "It's my dad," he said.  "No talkie."  Ryan nodded in understanding, pressing his lips together.

            "Hi Dad," Seth said.  "Yeah, I'm still on the road."  
            Ryan stared down at his boots.  He could hear the odd timbre of Sandy Cohen's voice on the other end, so close and so very, very far away.  He could have called.  Too late now.

            "Almost, a few more minutes to the hotel, I think.  Yeah, I filled up the tank awhile ago, got my music going, can I call you from the hotel?  Driving and talking on the cell phone is a leading cause of – uh huh, that's right, bye, Dad."  Seth pulled the phone away from his ear and hit the button before sending a smirk in Ryan's direction.  "My dad is a loon.  But then, you knew that."  
            "He is kinda pushy," Ryan admitted.

            "_Tell_ me about it.  You should have seen the hoops he made me jump through for this trip – he says he trusts me, but when it comes down to it, he has to spell like every little thing out."  Seth punctuated this by gesturing wildly above the steering wheel.

            "Yeah," Ryan said, twisting in his seat to face Seth, "I knew the guy for like, two minutes, didn't even ask him to help me, and already he was trying to tell me what to do with my life."  
            "Somehow, I bet hitchhiking to Texas wasn't on that list," Seth said.

            Ryan froze.  "Naw," he finally admitted after a moment.  He leaned back in his seat.  "It wasn't."  
            "His advice is usually better than that.  But everything worked out, cause now you're not hitchhiking at all.  I mean, my dad was your lawyer – that makes us practically, what?  Like cousins or something?"  
            Ryan wrinkled his nose in confusion.  "Uh, sure."

            "Okay.  Maybe not cousins.  Definitely not strangers, though."  
            "No," Ryan agreed.  "No, definitely not."

            Seth was right, somehow.  A couple of hours into this trip, and Ryan could feel it.  Seth wasn't a stranger, and he'd known that before he found out about their connection.  They'd been in this car forever, just driving along, talking, spending their lives together.  It was familiar to the point of being frightening, but just barely safe enough that he wasn't entirely scared.

            "Do you take your dad's advice?" Ryan asked curiously.

            "I dunno," Seth said.  "Sometimes.  Sometimes he's too pushy, though.  Like you said.  He's always trying to get me to go do stuff I don't want to do."

            "Like?"  
            "Well, see, you gotta understand Newport.  Which is tricky, cause even I don't understand Newport.  All these kids, all that money, the social status and everything, all they care about is suntans, and, like, parties, and who's doing who."  
            "Uh huh," Ryan said.  He didn't quite see yet what the problem was.

            "It's so shallow," Seth burst out.

            "Oh."  
            "I mean, there's so much more to life-"

            "Like comic book conventions?"  Ryan immediately bit his tongue back.

            "At least that's interesting!"  
            Ryan shrugged.  He wasn't about to argue.  "So, like, are you not into the money and the social status?  You and your Range Rover, you're just upper middle class?"  
            Seth shot him a look.  "I mean, financially, yeah, I'm okay, which is why you are not paying for your own dinner tonight when we get to the hotel, by the way.  But it's just... I mean... there's got to be more to life than that, right?"

            "Uh huh," Ryan said again, still partially in disbelief, and contemplating whether or not he really wanted to refuse a free dinner.

            "So anyway.  Newport.  These kids, the only way to get to know them is to be as boring and shallow as them and do all the boring and shallow things that they do.  And I'm just not into it.  But it's like I have to be if I want to have any friends there, so..."

            "So you just don't have friends there?  Except-"

            "Anna, right," Seth finished glumly.

            "Who just moved there."  
            "Yeah."

            Ryan shook his head.  "Look... don't let anybody ever tell you that you're not as cool as them because you're not into that shallow crap."

            "Oh, I don't," Seth said automatically.

            "Well, good," Ryan said definitively.  He caught Seth looking at him and stared at the highway stretching ahead of them.  "Good.  So if Newport's so lousy, why don't you move?"  
            Seth wrinkled his nose.  "It's complicated," he explained.  "I mean, my mom works for my grampa, and he owns, like, a lot of real estate in Newport."  He rushed through the last part.  "Her business is kind of stuck there.  I wish we could get out of it, but..."  He shrugged.  "It's the part of being sixteen that sucks."  
            "Tell me about it," Ryan grumbled.  He hesitated, glanced out the window, then at his lap, and then at Seth before finally finishing his thought.  "My mom?  She has, like, a new boyfriend every month.  Most of them I'd gladly kick to the curb if I could, but that's the part of being sixteen that sucks.  Is that you can't."  He looked up at the roof of the car, uncertain if he should have said that.  He glanced sideways at Seth and was relieved to see that Seth was clearly not planning to respond, as he was steering them onto another exit ramp.  He finally let his eyes rest on his lap as the dark, uneasy feelings started to settle in again.

            "Ah, there's our digs," Seth said, pointing to the tall, almost glistening hotel.  Ryan squinted up at it as they approached down a side street.

            "You're sure you're okay with sharing your room?" Ryan asked skeptically.

            "Yeah.  No prob.  I'll see if I can get them to upgrade to a double.  It'll only show up on my bank statement, Mom and Dad'll never see it."  
            "Huh," Ryan said, offering an obligatory response.  At this point, it felt weird to not respond to Seth's words.  Talking to him was like a habit now.  It was just what Ryan did.  He answered Seth.

            "Or there's a pull-out couch bed in every room."  
            "That's fine," Ryan said, his head shooting up.  "I'll just crash on the couch."  
            Seth shrugged.  "Let me at least try to upgrade?"  
            "No, man.  I don't want you to have to lie to your parents."

            "Why not?  I never get the chance to.  It'd be fun."  
            Fun?  Ryan again squinted over at Seth.  "I'll sleep on the couch," he said again.

            "There's really no-"

            "You said you wanted me to quit being agreeable," Ryan said.  "I quit."  He let his mouth hang open slightly, offering up just a little tough-guy posturing for a moment before he relaxed into a small smile.

            "Okay," Seth said finally.  "If you insist, dude."  And with that, he swung the car into the parking lot.


	6. Chapter Six

            "Hey, Batman is on, you like Batman?" Seth called into the bathroom.  All he heard was some muffled sounds that vaguely resembled Bike's voice, along with the running water.  They'd walked over to the drug store across the street to at least buy a toothbrush and some deodorant and soap for Bike.  He wasn't protesting quite so much, which Seth claimed as a small victory.  "I'll take that as a yes," Seth muttered before continuing to channel-surf.  "No surprise there."  He leaned back against the headboard and crossed his legs.  
            "How about baseball?"  The muffled response this time sounded somewhat more enthusiastic, so Seth dropped the remote control beside him on the bed.  

            After a few more moments, Bike emerged from the bathroom, clad in his t-shirt and shorts, his hair wet and rumpled.  He collapsed at the desk in the corner of the room, not even feigning an interest in the game on TV.  Typical.

            "I can't believe you really want to ditch the comic thing," Bike said.  He reached for the cooler, now parked on the desk and freshened with ice from the machine down the hall, and selected a bottle of water.  He set to work unscrewing the cap.  "It sounds kinda awesome."  
            "Wanna go?" Seth offered, still watching the game absent-mindedly.

            Bike snorted.  "I gotta get a move on," he said.

            "Why are you going to Texas?" Seth asked carefully, not looking over.  "Seriously."  
            There was a long silence as Bike sipped the water.  "I think I can get some work there," he said finally, wiping off his mouth.  "I know a guy."  
            "I thought you said you had family."  
            "Yeah, kinda.  He was my mom's boyfriend."

            "One of many?" Seth pressed.  Bike shrugged.  "You don't have anywhere else to go?"  
            Bike pushed the chair back from the desk, balancing it on two legs.  "If I did, you think I'd be hitching to Austin?"  
            Seth raised his eyebrows briefly, conceding this.  "Still-"

            "Look, I'm not arguing about this.  Not with you."  He rocked the chair back and forth absent-mindedly as he screwed the top back on to the water bottle.  
            "Are we arguing?  I'm just asking if you have any other options.  It's a simple question."  
            "Yeah, and I don't.  I spent the last four weeks thinking about it and not doing much else.  Now I gotta stop thinking and do something.  End of story."  
            "Sorry," Seth said, not really meaning it.

            Bike shook his head and brought the chair down to all four legs, rubbing his knee again.  Seth's eyes inadvertently landed on his knee and was surprised to see a massive multicolored mark there.  "Dude.  That's no old football injury."  
            Self-consciously, Bike adjusted his position to put the knee out of the way.  "Got hurt."  
            "I'll say.  That happen today?"  
            "Yeah.  This afternoon."  Bike winced as he shifted position a final time.

            "You want some painkillers or somethin'?"  
            Bike shook his head.  "I'll be fine.  Nothing's broken.  I mean, except my bike."

            "What, the wreck happened today?"  
            Bike narrowed his eyes.  "Yeah," he said.  "Yeah, more or less."  
            Seth decided it might be time to change the topic.  "So tell me, how'd you end up with Dad's cell phone number, anyway?  He doesn't usually give that out to clients, does he?"  
            "Dunno.  He said I could call him."

            "I thought he used his work number for that."  
            Bike shrugged and sipped the water again.  "I dunno."  He was silent for a few moments, and rather than fill the silence with words like usual, this time, Seth waited.  And after a few more seconds, it paid off.  "My mom was kinda upset about the whole thing, so he gave me that and said to call him."

            "And let me guess," Seth said dryly.  "You didn't."

            "What was he gonna do?" Bike asked suddenly, staring at Seth intensely.  "What was anybody gonna do?"  
            "Dude, it would help if I had the first clue what you were talking about," Seth pointed out.

Bike shrugged.  "Doesn't matter, anyway."

            "You know, if Dad gave you that number, he wasn't gonna get mad if you called it."  
            "I mean, what do you do with somebody like me?" Bike protested.  Seth felt a little clammy as he spoke.  "I could go to a group home.  Yay.  A residential facility?  Oh, that's fun stuff.  Naw, I'm fine.  I'll get to Austin and then I'll be fine."  
            Seth rolled over slightly, so that he was facing Bike directly.  "Maybe he has other options.  You can't know if you don't call."  
            "Yeah, well, it's too late now.  I already skipped out on probation.  If I go back, things are just gonna get worse."  
            "So you just keep running."  
            "Yeah," Bike insisted.  "Sooner or later I'll get far enough away.  And then it won't matter anymore."  
            "You sure did a bang-up job of escaping this time.  Hitching a ride with your attorney's kid."  
            "There's no need for sarcasm."  He squinted at Seth.

            "Sorry.  Habit.  Look, fate.  Destiny.  Like I was saying.  What are the odds that we ended up together?  Huh?  I mean, don't you think that means something?"

Bike wrinkled his forehead, considering.  "Let me think.  No."

"You have no sense of fun."

Bike stared at him.  "Apparently not.  Does this mean you're not gonna take me to Austin now?"

Seth sighed and stretched back on the bed.  "I'll still take you to Austin.  If that's what you really want."

"Yeah.  It is."  
He shrugged.  "Then Austin it is.  Hey, how about a pizza?"

Bike didn't seem to comprehend.  "Pizza?"

"Piz-za," he said, enunciating.  "What do you like on yours?"

            "I d-"

            Seth cut him off.  "You.  Choose."  
            After a moment, Bike finally grinned.  Just a little.  "Extra cheese and mushrooms?"  
            "You got it," Seth said, reaching for the pizza menu he'd picked up in the lobby.  He picked up the phone and entered the phone number listed on the menu.  "Hey.  Can I place an order for delivery?  Yeah.  Extra-large pizza, extra cheese, and mushrooms.  Hey, what kinda crust do you like?" he asked Bike, cradling the phone on his ear.

            "Thick?" Bike guessed.

            "Rock on.  You are totally my new best friend.  Yeah, thick crust, and we're at the Hilton.  Room 16B.  All right."  He hung up.  "Half an hour."  
            "I don't want to be your charity case," Bike said bluntly.  Seth stared at him.

            "Okay," he said at last.  "Then I'll give you my address, and after you get your job, you can send me money to pay for your half of the pizza."  
            "Good deal," Bike said, relieved.

            "Or you could just send it to my dad's office," he added.

            "Not funny."  
            "I wasn't trying to be."

            Bike shrugged.  "Hard to tell sometimes.  So is anything else on TV?"  
            Seth hurled the remote control across the room, and Bike caught it abruptly.

"Yeah, I get it," Bike muttered.  "I have to choose."  
            "You got it."  
            Bike scrolled through.  "And if I choose, uh, CNBC?"  
            "It's all up to you, man."  
            "Now who's being too accommodating?"

Bike actually laughed at that before settling the television on a "Punk'd" rerun.  Seth sat up, tucking his legs beneath him as he smiled at Ashton Kutcher's face.  This was definitely more fun than Comic-Con.


	7. Chapter Seven

            Ryan licked the oil off of his fingers as he sat the empty paper plate back on the floor.  He hadn't eaten as much food as he'd eaten today in over a month.  And now he felt bloated.  It wasn't an unpleasant feeling.

            "It's getting to be the witching hour.  I really need to call my dad," Seth was saying, still babbling away from the couch, where he'd perched himself to sip his Pepsi.  "Can you try and keep it down for a couple of minutes?"  
            Ryan closed his eyes at the ribbing.  "I'll see what I can do," he promised dryly.

            He opened his eyes again and let them rest on the TV blindly.  He really didn't care what they watched.  But if Seth was going to be so insistent about it, it wasn't worth arguing about.

            "Hi Mom," Seth said, and Ryan glanced over to see his resigned expression.  He turned back to the TV.  "Yeah.  Uh huh, I'm at the hotel now.  Oh, tons of fun, I'm sure, but I didn't go over tonight.  I'm just tired.  I'll see everything tomorrow, tonight's events aren't that great.  Yeah."  He rolled his eyes at Ryan and lifted his hand, miming his mother's chattering.  If Seth's mother was anything like Seth, Ryan could only imagine.  Then again, maybe he got his overzealous talking from his father.  Sandy Cohen was a bit on the pushy side himself.  

            "In fact, I'm really tired, and my pizza's here."  He raised a conspiratorial eyebrow in Ryan's direction.  "So do you mind if I go?  Okay, Mom.  Yeah, Mom.  Would you just stop already?  I'm.  Fine.  There.  I'm a big boy now – uh huh."  He ran his free hand through his hair and grimaced up at the ceiling.  "Tell Dad I called, so he doesn't pester me, would ya?  Fine.  Sure.  Bye, Mom."  

He clicked off the phone, but not before Ryan heard the telltale feminine "Love you," echoing across the room over Seth's silent response.

            Ryan bit his lip.  "Hey," he said hesitantly, "do you have free long distance on that thing?"  
            "On weekends, yeah.  I have an unlimited plan.  Why?"  
            "Maybe I could call Benny?" Ryan suggested.  "My... friend," he amended.  He raised his eyebrows.

            "Sure, god knows I have enough minutes.  Here."  Seth tossed the phone across the room and Ryan caught it with one hand.  He was getting better at anticipating Seth's random tosses.  He didn't have Benny's number on a card in his pocket like Sandy's because he'd memorized it when he got it in the first place.  Ryan had a good memory for numbers, and the number that Benny had given him that awful night in Chino had been seared into his brain.  He'd never written it down, he'd been afraid of what would happen if someone... if anyone had found it...

            "Thanks," Ryan said.  He tucked the phone beside him on the floor and reached for his shoes.  "I'm gonna... go for a walk?"  
            "Whatever you want.  Me and Ashton, we've got a party here all by ourselves," Seth said, reaching for another slice of mushroom pizza.

            Ryan tugged his boots on and grabbed the phone and the key from the dresser before making his way out into the hallway.  He walked down to the vending machines before finally entering the numbers into the phone.  He stared at them for a long while, the number he'd burned into his brain finally entered for him to look at, before hitting the 'SEND' button.

            He held his breath and listened at the first ring.  And the second.  And the-

            "'Lo?"  
            Ryan felt his heartrate skyrocketing.  

            "Hello?" the voice asked again.

            "...Benny?" he asked.  He heard how timid and pathetic his own voice sounded and he hated himself.

            "No, who's this?"  
            "This... this is a friend of Benny's," Ryan said.  "Is he there?"  
            "I don't know no Benny."  
            The words ground his systems to a halt.  "No Benny?" he asked.  "Isn't this-"

            "Wrong number."  
            The phone went dead in his ear.  Ryan lowered it, staring at it.  It was impossible.  He must have dialed wrong.

            He entered the numbers again, frantically this time.  He read them over and over.  It was the number Benny had given him.  It was.

            "'Lo?"  
            No.

            "There's no Ben Mariner there?" he asked again.

            "No."

            "Maybe this used to be his number?" he asked, desperately.

            "Maybe.  I dunno."  
            "Maybe we can find his new number?" Ryan begged.  "Please-"

            "Can't help you.  Sorry."  The phone went dead again.

            He felt the air whistling in through his open mouth as he gaped at the phone.  He felt light-headed.  He moved to the wall and slowly lowered himself to a seat, where he buried his head between his arms, still clutching Seth Cohen's cell phone.  

            Breathe.  Keep the oxygen coming.  Air, stupid.  He repeated the words silently to himself.  Must keep breathing.  Must keep fighting.  But what was there left to fight?  Had Benny given him a wrong number?  Ryan would never have remembered it wrong.  Benny had moved?  Benny was gone?  

            He had lost Benny.  That was no longer an option.  It was time to deal.

            He had one phone number left, and the son of that phone number was sitting not forty feet away, waiting patiently for Ryan to come back with his cell phone.  But it was too late.  He couldn't go back to Sandy Cohen now.  Not after he'd vanished, not after he'd skipped out on his probation.  Not after he'd lost everything.  Not the way he was now.

            He lifted his head and glanced up at the vending machine, but the sight of it made him feel nauseous after all the food he'd eaten today, the food that Seth, Sandy's son, had given him.  He buried his head again, this time in his arms, the worlds whirling and closing in on him.

            He'd figure something out.  

He just didn't know what. 

            Slowly, he pulled himself to his feet and made his way back down the hall.  His footsteps sounded unusually loud and clunky in the hallway.  The pattern of the carpet spun before his eyes.  He keyed open the door and found Seth stretched out on the sofa.

            "Hey," Seth said, looking up.  "Did you get ahold of him?"  
            "Yeah," Ryan said absently.  "Yeah, it's all good."  
            "Well, cool," Seth said softly.

            Ryan stood in the middle of the room, not quite sure what was left to say.  But he knew if he was quiet long enough, he could count on Seth to come up with something.  And he did.

            "I'm beat, I don't know about you," Seth said. "I think I'm just gonna crash right here, actually."  
            "No, you take the bed," Ryan said.  "It's your room."

            "Uh uh," Seth protested, "I am not moving."

            "Fine," Ryan said.  He didn't feel like arguing.  He never felt like arguing.  Agree or run away, that was what Ryan liked to do.  That was the best thing to do.  Arguing would get you nowhere.  He knew that from experience.  Arguing made things worse, and right now, even though it seemed like things couldn't get worse, he'd thought as much before.  And been proven wrong.  

            Ryan slowly kicked his shoes off, and arranged them beside Seth's shoes in the corner between the dresser and the trashcan, which was almost full with junk food wrappers and the packaging from the toiletries Seth had bought for him.  He clambered towards the bed, moving in a haze of disbelief.

            "You mind if we leave the TV on?" Seth asked.  "Sometimes I sleep better..."  
            "It's fine," Ryan said absent-mindedly.

            "You sure?"  
            He took a deep breath as he collapsed across the bed, diving beneath the heavy comforter and the soft sheets.  "Yeah, everything... it's all fine."


	8. Chapter Eight

            Truth be told, the couch wasn't all that comfy.  But Seth had already figured out that he would never get Bike to sleep in the bed if he admitted that.  And Seth knew he'd be snoozing in the comfort of his own home next week, while there was no telling what Bike would find in Austin.

            He could make a sacrifice for once in his life.

            He flipped over for what seemed like the hundredth time, then stopped to listen for Bike.

            All he heard was the steady rhythmic breathing of the boy in the next bed over the sound of the faint TV chatter.  His friend.  He liked the sound of it.  And the sound of something else.  The breathing was too steady.  Bike couldn't sleep, either.

            "Hey... Bike?"  
  


*

            It took Ryan a moment to remember.  Bike.  That was his name now.  He kept waiting for people to say his name, forgetting that he had buried it away, hidden it deep down where no one would ever find it ever again.

            "Yeah?"  
            "You're still up?"  
            Ryan rolled over to face Seth on the couch.  He didn't look all that comfortable.  "Can't sleep, I guess."

            "Yeah.  Me neither."

            "Seth.  Why are you whispering?"  
            Seth rolled into a seated position and grinned mildly at him.  "Habit, I guess."

*

            Only, it wasn't a habit.  Because Seth wasn't used to having anyone to talk to when he couldn't sleep.  He was usually alone.  Very much alone.  His grin faded.

            "So, are you worried?  About Austin?"  
            He couldn't quite decipher the look that briefly marred Bike's impenetrable expression.

            "Guess so," Bike admitted.

            "Look, we can make it by tomorrow if we don't stop.  I'll help you find your guy, and once you're set, it'll all be fine."  
            "Guess so."  He didn't sound entirely convinced.

            "Or," Seth ventured, "How about we put off Austin for a day and hit Comic-Con tomorrow?"  
            Bike wrinkled his nose.  "You still really wanna go?"  
            "No.  But you look like you _don't_ want to go to Texas."  
            "I do," he protested, feebly.

            "Okay, then, dude.  First thing in the morning."  
            "Right," Bike agreed.

*

            This wasn't good.  He had to find a way to lose Seth before the kid figured out he was lying.  Because once the spawn of Sandy Cohen found out the truth, that Ryan had nobody and no place to go, there'd be no escaping the system.  The System.  Dave and The Finger had drilled those words into his head.  Avoid The System, Bike, they'd say, shaking their heads; you's lucky you never was in it to start.

            "Hey, Bike?"  
            This time he didn't miss his cue.  "What?"  
            "Were you ever gonna tell me?  What happened?  To your family?"

            Again, the sharp stabs, the discomfort.  The anger.  Ryan closed his eyes as his limbs thrashed for comfort beneath the reassuringly heavy weight of the blankets above him.  

            "I don't," he said slowly and clearly, "want to talk about it."  
            

*

            "_Have_ you talked about it?" Seth asked gently, carefully.  He could tell when he was on thin ice, but he could also see what was on the other side of that ice.

            "No," Bike snapped, rough this time.

            "Okay," Seth said doubtfully.

            "I'm tired.  Night," Bike said, flipping over in his bed, away from Seth.

            In the flickering light from the TV, Seth's eyes bored into Bike's back.  He stared at him, wondering, pleading silently and waiting for nothing until his eyelids grew heavy and then still.

*

            Ryan tried to snuggle below the covers and find a comfortable position, but it was impossible.  As odd as it was, here in this dark and quiet room, he almost missed sleeping in the bushes, his bag tucked beneath his head, Melanie wrapped around him tightly.  And to think, all those nights he'd wished he could afford a hotel.  A motel, even.  And here he was in this swanky palace, on the prince's bill, missing his nights of being with the paupers.

            He couldn't even admit what he really missed.  He couldn't bring himself to consider it.

*

            The breeze whipped at Seth's curls as he leaned slightly to port, as he liked to consider it, steering his board oh-so-subtly toward the center of the boardwalk.

            He laughed out loud as he gained on the distance between him and the boy on the red bicycle, his friend, his brother, his ally.

            The air whipped around them, the rhythmic beat of their wheels against the boards filling his ears.  And Seth was happy, to be riding along the coast of the great ocean with his friend, his brother, his ally.  Bike.  Who had no worries left on this beautiful summer morning.  Because he knew Seth had his back, and Seth likewise had no worries – because Bike had his back.  That's what it meant, to be the two of them.

            It meant not having to be lonely ever again.  It meant not having to worry ever again.  

*

            Ryan was worried

.           The way things were going, it was only a matter of time before Seth asked the right question and he gave the wrong answer.

            He couldn't say the words, couldn't tell someone as innocent as Seth the real reason why Ryan Atwood was on the streets, poor and defeated and alone.  And he couldn't tell him what he now knew – that there was nothing for him in Austin, that he truly had nowhere and no place to go.  Seth would find him a place... but Seth didn't know what was best for him.  Ryan didn't want the kid prying, picking, preaching.  He didn't want anybody poking around in his life, in his business.

            And so, without even thinking about it, he found himself packing his bag at 2:14 a.m., tossing in a few extra snacks from the cooler that Seth would never miss.  He tied his shoes, zipped his bag, unlocked the door, and then locked it again.  He made his way to the desk, where he fumbled for a pen in the dim TV lighting.

"Seth – 

Thanks for everything.  You're great.  Don't listen to anybody who tells you anything else.

I'm going on alone.  Don't worry about me.  I'll be okay.  Don't tell your Dad.  Thanks.

If it's really fate, I bet we'll run into each other again.  When we're both rich and famous.

See you then.

Your friend-

Bike"

He folded the note and gently laid it atop Seth's suitcase.  He tucked the notepad and pen into his bag.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out the tattered business card of Sandy Cohen, attorney-at-law.  He deposited the card on top of the letter and stared at it for a long moment before turning around.  It was all he could do not to look back as he slipped out the door into the dark night, alone again.


	9. Chapter Nine

            Seth stared at the small slip of hotel stationary trembling in his hand.

            He lowered himself slowly onto the couch.

            Why did he need to sleep, anyway?  What was wrong with him?  How could he let him get away, and more importantly, why did Bike have to leave him?  What was that mysterious quality that led to Seth's abandonment, time and time again?

            He should never have asked that question.  If he'd just left him alone, if he'd minded his own business, let Bike tell him when he was ready... _god_, he was such an idiot.  He was an imbecile.  He was a loser.

            He crept to the cooler and pulled out one of the leftover water bottles, shaking off the excess wetness from the ice that had melted into a great puddle overnight, during the long night as Seth slept and Bike fled.

*

            Ryan leaned back against the awning of the closed law office and caught a drag on the cigarette he'd bummed off the guy in the Wookiee costume.  First time for everything.  Who knew Chewbacca was a tobacco fiend?

            He had to start moving soon, he couldn't wait here forever.  Though for the moment, the offices by the convention center seemed like the last place Seth would be looking for him.

            Somehow he knew Seth _would_ be looking for him.  Seth, Sandy, and who knew who else?

            Austin was out of the question now, anyway.  He had to get past San Diego.  And Chino was definitely history.

            He started walking again, one arm clutching the strap of his backpack as the other worked on finishing the cigarette.  It was only a mile or so to the nearest on-ramp to the highway.

*

"Hey.  Dad."  
            "Seth!  How's San Diego?  How's Wolverine?"  
            "Super."  Seth fingered the hotel desk in front of him as he pushed back in his seat, the chair balancing precariously on two legs.  "Hey.  Question."  
            "Shoot."  
            He pushed further back, running his finger back and forth on the edge of the desk.  "When I was in your office Friday, that case?  The one you were talking about when I came in?"  
            He heard the hesitation in his father's voice.  "Seth-"  
            "I know it's confidential," Seth rushed.  "I know.  But... it's kinda been..."  He shuddered as he looked around the room, picturing Bike's face from just hours before.  "Could you just tell me what happened?  You know, in general terms.  Cause it's been haunting me," he finished.

"Oh, Seth..."  Now Sandy was concerned.  
            Seth bit his lip.  "Is that kid okay?" he asked.  "D'you think?"

            There was another long pause.  "There's hundreds of 'that kid's."  
            "I mean the one you were talking about right then.  It was the way you looked."  Seth held his breath.

            His father sighed.  "I know which one you mean.  Okay.  Car theft.  We were gonna get it down to a misdemeanor, the kid's smart as a whip and was clearly an unwilling bystander, but when we called his house, he was gone.  Mother didn't know where to.  Called again two days later, and she's up and vanished.  Gone.  No forwarding address."  
            "But people don't just disappear," Seth protested.  "They have to go _somewhere_."  
            "Yes.  They do.  But there's no way to know."

"You can't look for him?"

"I do what I can do.  But that's never enough.  And the chances of us ever seeing him again are slim to none."  
            "So," Seth pressed, his voice shaking only slightly.  "What happens to kids like that?"

            "If he's lucky?" Sandy asked.  "He found a friend."  
            Seth ran his free hand through his hair, tugging on the ends of his curls.  "And if he's unlucky?"  
            "Probably on the street somewhere.  And then, who knows?  Usually, they wind up in big cities where the panhandling is good.  Maybe Los Angeles."

            "Oh," Seth said faintly.  Or San Diego...  Or Austin.

            "You asked."

            Seth swallowed.  "And then what?"  
            "Then what?" Sandy echoed.

            "After they end up on the street."

            Sandy paused.  "They're long, long out of my reach by then."  
            "I see," Seth said.  He straightened up, resting the chair legs on the floor.  "Thanks, Dad."  
            "Any time," his father said, the concern evident in his voice.

            "Oh," Seth continued. "Did he... did he have a name?"  
            "That's confidential."  
            "Dad."

            "You're not putting this in a book, are you?"  
            "Course not."  
            Sandy was quiet for a long moment.  "Ryan," he finally said, his voice heavy with regret.  "his name was Ryan."  
            Seth licked his lips.  "Okay.  Thanks.  I'll be home tomorrow."  
            "Love you, son."  
            "Yeah, shaddup," Seth said, finally smiling a little as he hung up on his father.  He tossed the phone at the bed and stared at it, the damn phone lying on the bed so smug and secure when some people didn't have beds.  Or phones.  Or any way to reach them, any way to make sure they were okay.

            Ryan.   

            Bike had a real name.  He had a life story, and a mother, and her boyfriends, and a home somewhere that he didn't want to go back to.  He was Ryan, and Ryan was still out there somewhere.  And Seth was starting to regret a lot of things himself.

            But if anybody knew anything about this, it was his father.  And if his father could do nothing, what could Seth possibly do by himself?

            All that he could think of to do was to throw himself onto the bed beside the cell phone and remind himself that sixteen year old boys weren't supposed to cry.

            Especially not for runaway kids they hardly knew.  Like Ryan.

*

            He glanced around the diner, taking everything in, absorbing and processing the smells and sensations.  He needed to eat.  Scrambled eggs and toast he could afford.  A quick glance at the menu confirmed it, and he slid into a stool at the counter, dropping the bag on the floor beside his stool. He'd probably stiff the tip.  Better to insult the waiters than run out of money right now.

            "Ew!  There's a speck in this – ew!"

            He glanced over irritably at the girl perched beside him picking at her bagel.  He didn't want human contact right now, and she was definitely acting on his auditory space.

            "Waiter?  Excuse me?  Hello!"

            He caught his reflection in the tray of muffins on display beside him and picked at his hair.  At least he was clean.  For awhile.  And he could seat Seth's snacks later.  Was it stealing?  Seth _had_ offered.  Maybe he shouldn't stiff the waiter, either.

            "Could you, like, fix this?  Please?" The girl pushed back in her seat as the annoyed waiter finally reclaimed her bagel.  "_Thank_ you!"  She turned to her friend.  "Swear to god.  This is the last time you drag me to one of these places.  Forget Tijuana, forget this whole road trip, I want Newport.  Now."  She hopped off the stool.  "I?  Am going to wash my hands.  Scrub them.  Same diff.  Be right back."  Okay.  He was definitely not stiffing the poor guy.  
            Ryan looked over with interest at the girl's silent companion, who was picking at a plate of eggs.  She caught his glance from the corner of her eye and looked up, a hauntingly beautiful gaze.  He glanced away, then looked back in spite of himself.

            "You from Newport?" he asked haltingly.

            The girl bit her lip and nodded, appraising him herself.  "Um.  Yeah?"

            Ryan glanced around before asking the next, inevitable question.  He knew it was stupid, bad planning, typical Ryan Atwood, but he couldn't help it.  "Really.  You know Seth Cohen?"  
            An indecipherable expression crossed her face.  "Um.  Yeah."  He cocked his head at her, waiting.  "He's my next-door neighbor, why?"  
            "Oh, nothing," he said.  "I just... met him.  Once."  
            A slow smile crept across her face.  "Yeah?  What's your name?"


	10. Chapter Ten

He stood in the middle of the hotel lobby to take it all in.

            The costumes were mostly awesome.  Klingons and X-Men and something he was pretty sure was from Farscape, which he'd never really gotten in to.  He'd have plenty of time when he got home, if he wanted to get in to it.  He could maybe download some episodes...

            It just seemed awfully pointless all of a sudden.

            Everything seemed so pointless.  Didn't matter that he'd spent half his summer sailing income on this trip.  He didn't want to go to the convention center.  He didn't want to be in the hotel.  He didn't want to leave his hotel room.  He didn't want to stay in his hotel room.

            Two kids dressed as Spiderman and the Hulk ran past him, chasing each other, scrambling to race for the elevator.  Spiderman tripped and managed to somehow upset the potted plant in the corner on his way down to the floor.  Dirt, roots and stones spilled across the immaculate carpet.  The Hulk came to a screeching halt and turned around, dashing to his friend's side to help him correct the damage.

            Seth watched as the two kids finished a very unsatisfactory tidying job and ran yelping for the elevator.

            He felt awfully old.  For all of this.  Old and tired and bored.  In fact, it was probably time to leave San Diego.  He could be home in time for dinner.

*

            "So.  You're sure you don't need a ride?"  The darker haired girl bit her lip and Ryan peered back at her.  Big flirt, but not much else to her from what he could tell.

            "Naw.  Mexico's not for me," he said, then stopped.  Where was he going, anyway?  Maybe he could do Mexico.  No.  Wait.  What was he thinking?  Not with Sandy Cohen's next-door neighbor and her best friend, he couldn't.  He squinted across the parking lot back towards the diner.

            "Hey, Summer, I'll meet you at the car," the other girl said pointedly.  Summer glared at her before marching off, tossing her hair, and Ryan had the nagging suspicion he'd missed something.

            "Where's your bike?" she demanded once her friend was out of hearing distance.  "You told us you have it here?"  
            "Yeah, it's," he jerked his thumb, "just over... there."  
            "Show me."  
            "What?"  
            "I think you're lying."  
            "What if I am?"  
            "If you are then you really are an asshole.  Acting all Jack Kerouac just so we'll think you're cool."  
            "Kerouac...?" Ryan was lost.

            "Look, I..."  She tucked her hair behind her ear.  "I didn't mean that.  You seem like a good guy and all.  But.  Are you sure you don't want a lift?"

            He fixed her with a hard look.  "I'm fine."  
            She shrugged.  "Well. Okay.  Nice to meet you, then, Bike."

            Ryan watched as she stalked off after Summer, unable to close his eyes until she was gone.  Kids would talk.  Surely they'd tell Seth later.  Which meant now he really had to leave San Diego.

            What was fate _doing_ to him?

            He wandered down the street in the direction of the highway, long after the princesses and their SUV had vanished, until he found a park.  That was familiar territory.  It was a decent enough day, if still a little chilly, at least it was sunny.  He settled onto a park bench and pulled out the pen and notepad he'd brought with him from the hotel.

            Ryan chewed thoughtfully on the ballpoint pen.  He'd never been much of a writer, but it was something to do, anyway.  

            "Dear"

            He stared at the word.  Dear who?  Dear Trey?  He didn't have the address of the prison Trey was in.  Dear Mom?  Like that was happening.  Dear Seth?  What was left to say?  Dear Marissa?  Much as he wanted to, no.

            "Mr. Cohen," he chewed on the pen again, the plastic buckling beneath his gnawing teeth.  After a moment, he ripped the page off and threw it angrily at the wastebasket several feet from the bench.  It missed.

            He stared at the crumpled page on the sidewalk.  Numbers flashed in his head.  Numbers he should have forgotten, but couldn't, they were seared in his head, little smoldering flames of knowledge he couldn't stamp out.  No matter how hard he tried.

            He stood and started walking towards the highway again.  

*

_            I roll the window down..._

            ...the strong scent of evergreen, from the passenger seat, as you are driving me home...

            Home.  Seth was going home.  Bike – _Ryan –_ wasn't.

            There was nothing left for Seth at home.  Sure, parents, money, a pool, a sailboat, PlayStation, but toys were no fun by himself anymore.  Maybe when Anna came back she'd be somebody to spend time with, but for now he wanted more.  He wanted a friend, but all his friends were like Bike, they saw his failures and they left.  Just like Anna would, sooner or later.  Just like everybody who wasn't part of his family.

            He spun the wheel and the Range Rover lurched into an empty parking lot.

            Seth turned the car off and sat there for a long time.

*

            Ryan clutched his backpack, his safety net.  Four hours and no lift, now here he was back in a park, but it was a strange park.  Maybe there were other kids around, but not Dave, and not The Finger.

            He wondered how Trey was.  Sure he was locked up, but Trey had a bed, food, some kind of stability even if it sucked.  Where did Trey think Ryan was exactly?  Did he know his baby brother was on the street?  He never would have allowed it if he wasn't locked up.  Would he?  He never would have let Ryan get away with it in the first place.  If he wasn't in jail he would have called everybody he knew, wouldn't have let Ryan edit his choices, disappear in desperation.  He wouldn't have let Ryan get so far from home with no one.  But then, he had allowed himself to disappear.  Stupid Trey.  Did he even realize what he'd started?

            It was a painful thought.  The kind of thing Ryan was trying _not_ to think.  He opened his eyes.

            And wished he hadn't.

            "Hey, guys," he said nervously.  Counting.

            "Honky.  Get the fuck offa my bench."

            Yeah, he could probably count that high if his nerves weren't preventing him from counting sans fingers at the moment.  Cause he didn't have enough fingers for these guys, let alone fists...

            "I'm moving," Ryan grunted.

            "Not fast enough you ain't."  
            He bit back the automatic comeback that popped into his head.  Bad idea.  No provoking.  Ryan was bad about provoking people.  No more.

            "This better?" He scrambled to his feet.

            "Not good enough."  
            "Maybe you better spell it out for me," he said, rolling his head back as he swung his bag over his shoulders.

            "I ain't no good at spelling."  
            Ryan squinted.

            "I'm better at makin' sure punks like you stay the fuck outta my park."  
            He sighed.  "Look, you and your crew look pretty set, you sure you don't want an extra?"  He couldn't believe he was saying these words.

            "Not one looks like you."  
            Okay.  Harsh.  "Then I guess I'm movin' on."  
            "Your lips are movin'.  Your legs ain't.  You see the difference?"

            "I see it," Ryan said, resigned.

            "Now we talkin'."  The kid smiled.  His smug, satisfied look flipped a switch in Ryan.  He ground his teeth to keep it from taking over, turned, and began to stalk off, still seething.

            "You forgot somethin'."  
            He stopped.  "What?"  
            "Your toll."

            "For?"  
            "My bench."

            Now he was pissed, and now his muscles clenched, and now his fist had connected with the asshole's jaw and here were his friends his buddies his gang their fists were flying and smashing into him their hands were grabbing pulling pummeling him his flesh was tearing his limbs were thrashing his knuckles were bruising his head collapsing back against the soft grass in late late afternoon as they swarmed off.

            With their toll.

            And now his backpack was gone.

            And now Ryan, who had nobody, truly had nothing as well.

            Served him right.  Dumb Ryan.  Stupid, hotheaded, over-emotional Ryan, stupid, homeless, lonely abandoned useless pitiful pathetic Ryan Atwood.


	11. Chapter Eleven

            With a quick wish upwards, Seth slid into the study.  He wasn't sure whether to leave the door open or close it all the way, he hadn't really planned that far ahead, so he settled on leaving it cracked open.  He exhaled air between his lips and tiptoed stealthily across the carpet to his dad's filing cabinet.

            He knew Sandy never locked the drawers, because he had no reason to think his sixteen-year-old son would ever have reason to be snooping for anything.

            Really, his sixteen-year-old son wasn't quite sure what, if anything, he expected to find.  He didn't even know Bike's – _Ryan's_ last name.  Or that Bike and Ryan were even the same person.  He just had a feeling was all.  Just like when he first pulled over to pick up the kid on the side of the road who could have been his friend.

            He pulled the first drawer open as quietly as he could.  Nothing.  At all.  It wasn't even cases, it was tax forms, and school enrollment papers, and report cards from middle school, and old passports, and outdated bills.  Disgusted, Seth slammed the door shut and then jumped a little at the noise.

            Startled, he froze in place, listening for any sign that anyone in the house had heard.  After a few moments, he relaxed and reached for the next drawer.  Before he could open it, he heard the footsteps.

            Panic time.  Seth scanned the room quickly.  Best option had to be behind the desk, so he dove for cover and found himself nestled between a pair of his mom's shoes, an empty kleenax box, and a copy of The New Yorker, which he glared at.  Looked like Rosa hadn't been back here for awhile.

            "Hello?  Rosie?"  The familiar female voice sent his spine tingling.  He was almost caught.  From beneath the desk, Seth could hear his heartbeat echoing.  Surely it was loud enough for his mom to hear – 

            "What do you think you're doing?"

            "Um."  Seth's hands scrambled for the magazine.  "Mom.  Hi.  Jeez, can't a guy get a little peace and quiet around here?"

            "You are hiding.  Under your father's desk."

            "Yes.  I am.  Good call on that one, Mom."  
            "But you're not supposed to be home until tomorrow, and – uh, are those my violet pumps?"  
            "No, they're mine," Seth said casually, plucking them from the corner of his cave and chucking them at Kirsten, who caught them and admired them for a moment.

            "I've been looking everywhere for these – what the hell are you doing?"  
            "I'm – it was quiet in here, and –"  She wasn't buying it.  He sighed.  "Looking.  For something."  
            "Uh huh. In here?  What?"  
            "Nothing."  
            "Seth."  
            He flopped onto his hands and knees and crawled out.  "Nothing that's here."  
            "What could you possibly be looking for?"  
            "It doesn't matter."  
            "I think it does."  
            "Look."  He rose to his feet and stood up.  "I think that I should be allowed a little privacy from time to time, Mom.  All right?"  
            She stared at his magazine.  "You're reading a New Yorker?  From last April?"  
            "I was behind."  
            "What am I missing here?"  
            "Nothing.  I'm going for a swim.  Seeya later, Mom."  He dumped the New Yorker in the trash can.  The least he could do was clean up a little around the place.  If nobody else was going to.

*

            Ryan opened his eyes to find the sun was starting downwards.

            It was amazing, really.  Every time he thought things could get no worse, they managed to surprise him and succeed.  Quite impressive of them.  Before too long, the sun would be down again, and he had no money and no place to go.

            His brain, against his better instincts, was still clicking away, trying to figure out how to get him out of this.  Insisting that if he would just stop and think, the end result might actually be in his favor.  Yeah, right.  That one had worked great so far.

            ..._Pick up the damn phone..._

            And call who?  Benny?  Benny was gone.  Maybe he'd never existed.  Maybe he'd moved.  Maybe he'd had the wrong number.

            ..._Not that one.   The other one..._

            Because Sandy Cohen was gonna do him a hell of a lot of good right now.

            ..._Dude.  I'm on your side..._

            What kind of grown man would even use a word like 'dude', anyway?  Seth's dad, that was who.  It was like two sides of the same coin – Ryan got Seth right away, all because of Sandy.  Seth wanted to help.  He tried...

            Maybe foster care wouldn't be so bad.  Food, bed, all paid for by the state, right?  But trying to pretend like strangers were his family?  He never could.

            "Yo, honky, that better not be you I see back there..."  
            Now that voice was definitely not in his head.  Ryan stiffened and then quickly scrambled to his feet to start moving away.

            ..._Phone booth, nine o' clock..._

            He turned to face it.  He had no money.  He had nothing.  But he didn't necessarily have – 

            ..._Collect, asshole..._

            With a resigned sigh, Ryan gave his head a half-affectionate, half-irritated thwack to quiet it before steeling himself to walk across the street towards the phone.  The numbers were still there, rolling around in his head.  He couldn't get away from them.


	12. Chapter Twelve

            "Your son is up to something."  
            Sandy glanced up over his wine glass as Kirsten marched her bag into the kitchen.  She swung it onto the table in one fluid motion and started searching through the architectural plans it held.

            "How come as soon as he's up to something he's suddenly my son?" Sandy grumbled.  She caught his gaze and shot him half a grin as she pulled out the report she was looking for.

            "Up to something in your study.  I caught him snooping in there today.  He won't say why."  
            The kid never ceased to amaze.  Sandy sighed.  "You want me to talk to him?"  
            "You really have no idea why he would go in there?"  
            "I'm not the kommandant, sweetie.  This is not the Third Reich.  If Seth wants to go in the study, it's not like there's anything secret in there.  I bet he was just... I don't know, playing Secret Agent or something."  He shrugged.  It seemed a little juvenile for Seth, but that had never stopped him before.

            She wrinkled her nose.  "You think?"

Sandy took a swig and polished off the last of the wine before setting the glass back down on the counter.  "Where is he, anyway?  Is he in his room?"

            "No, I think he went to the store.  We're out of ice cream.  Has he said anything to you about why he came back early?"

            Before he could reply, the chirping of his cell phone interrupted them.  Kirsten glanced at it on the table.  "Who's that?"  
            He moved to pick it up and glanced at the caller ID.  "Not a clue."  
            "Mmmm.  Let it go to voice mail."  
            But something was odd about it.  It was an out of town number.  A wrong number?  Or...?  "Scuse me a sec, honey," he said apologetically.  She shrugged and turned back to her report.

            "Sandy Cohen," he said, flipping the phone open as he moved into the den.  He listened to the operator and squinted at the couch.  "Collect?  Yes.  Okay.  Okay."

            All he heard as the call connected was silence.  A car honked, distant yells rang out, and he waited, and then there was a voice.  It sounded so small and far away.  So uncertain.  "Mr. Cohen?"  
            He squinted again.  It couldn't be, but it was.  "This is he."  The voice lacked all the cockiness, all the smartass attitude, but there was no denying it.  He'd known before he even heard it.

            "Mr Cohen..."  Uncertainty, fear, anxiety, all in one spoken name.  The voice of a bright kid in a bad circumstance that had gotten worse.  But he couldn't call the voice on that.  Not yet.  "This is Ryan... Ryan Atwood, I... you were representing me, the thing about the car?"  
            Sandy's heart just about fell out of its place in his chest.  "Of course.  Ryan.  How could I forget?"  He wanted to fire off all of the questions he'd had for weeks.  Where the hell are you?  What happened?  Are you okay?  Why did you leave?  But he knew it would be asking for trouble.  Instead, he listened.

            "I was just calling cause, I had your number, and I was thinkin'..."  Ryan's voice trailed off.

            "Think away," Sandy said, fighting to keep his voice steady and patient.  The kid was losing his nerve.  He had to keep him on the line.  It was all he could do not to shoot back, _Why the hell didn't you call sooner?  Of course I'm the right person to call!_  But he pushed the reaction down.

            "I need..."  Again, silence.  Ryan made a noise as if he was choking.  "I need to talk to Seth."  
            Sandy fumbled the phone and nearly dropped it.  He caught it just before he hit the floor.  He straightened back up.  "S - Seth?"  
            "Your son," Ryan pressed.

            "I know he's my son, how did y-?"  
            "Fate?  Destiny?  I dunno, don't care, just want to go home-"  The sentence seemed to catch halfway through, stuck in mid-air.  Something was very, very wrong.

            "Seth," Sandy said again slowly.

            "Please?  Mr. Cohen?  I – I don't know..."  
            "He's not here."  Sandy hesitated.  "Well.  I can give you his cell."

            "Yeah?"

            "Okay.  You got a pen?"  
            "No.  But-"  Ryan breathed a shuddering sigh.  "I'll remember."

*

            Ryan stared at the phone.  For a long time.  It didn't bite.  That was good.  Real good.

            He heard the thunder in the distance.  A storm was coming.  The humidity was oppressive.  The water was ready to break.

            Automatically, his fingers started to press the series of numbers, one right after the other, each one bringing him closer to his fate.  There was no use fighting it anymore.

            "Please state your name."  
            "Ry – uh, I mean, this is Bike, um, hey."  
            Was it too long?  He listened closely.

            The phone rang.  He held his breath.

            "Hello?"  
            "Will you accept a collect call from 'Ry – uh, I mean this is Bike, um, hey,'?"

            "Ryan?  Bike?  Yeah.  Definitely.  I mean..."  Click.  "Ryan?  Is that you?"  
            Ryan clutched the phone tightly.  "It's me.  Hey."  
            "How-?"  
            "Your dad.  Gave me your number."  
            "Cool.  I mean, more than cool, awesome, uh, dude?  Are you okay?"  
            It took everything he had to fight it.  To tell Seth the truth.

            "No."  He heard his own voice shaking and hated himself for being so weak.  But this was him, this was Ryan, this was what he had to work with.

            "Where are you?  I'll come pick you up."  
            Ryan heard the note of concern in his voice.  Something stung his eyes and his throat.  "San Diego, I think.  I guess."

            "Tell me where.  I'm coming for you."  
            Ryan took a deep breath and stared up at the clouds gathering overhead.

*

            Seth stared out at the headlights reflecting off the wet ground.  It wasn't much farther.  Soon they'd find him again.

            "So you're probably wondering how me and Ryan met," Seth said, resigned.  He fingered the dashboard in front of him as one of his father's massive eyebrows shot up, and pressed on.  "I couldn't, I mean he didn't want me to tell you, but now that you know, I guess it's okay-"

            "Seth," Sandy said, cutting him off.  "It's okay.  Really."  
            They sat there in silence for a moment, the windshield wipers stroking back and forth just off the beat of the Bright Eyes song.

            "I wanted to tell you," Seth said at last, quietly.

            "I believe you."  
            "There's something about him, Dad.  I mean, you see people all the time and sometimes, yeah, maybe they do need help, but I never felt like I _had_ to stop and pick them up-"

            "Wait," Sandy said, glancing over.  "_How_ did you two meet?"  
            "He was hitchhiking, I picked him up-"  
            "You _what_?" Sandy asked, alarmed, then sighed.  "Do me a favor and do not tell your mother."  
            "Deal," Seth said, relieved.

            There was silence for a moment.  "You're right," Sandy finally said.  "You wouldn't know this, but I see a lot of Ryans.  Every day of my life.  And this one?"  He glanced at Seth.  "He's not like the others."  
            "So.  What happens to him now?"  
            "Well, he'll probably go to a residence for a few days until we can figure out where his mother went.  Hopefully we can get him home again."  
            "Yeah.  Okay.  You think that's what he wants?"  
            Sandy shot his son a sad smile.  "Welcome to my world."  
            Seth twisted in his seat.  "Can't we _do_ something?  Like, bring him home?  I mean, with us.  We've got room."  
            "Oh.  Your mother would love that."  
            Seth scratched his head.  "I just want him to have a happy ending is all."  
            Sandy's head tilted to the side as he contemplated this for a moment.

            "Okay, hey, hey, hey, there it is," Seth said, leaning forward and pointing.  "The Super Wal-Mart, I think that's where he is."

            Sandy stopped the car just inside the entrance to the Super Wal-Mart parking lot.

            "Uh, Dad?" Seth leaned forward.  "What are you doing?  I see him.  He's way over there."  He pointed across the parking lot.

            Sandy turned to him.  "You go.  I'll catch up."  
            "Me?  Alone?"  
            Sandy nodded.  "This kid trusts you a hell of a lot more than he trusts me."  He grinned at him.  "So you get to be the advance team."  
            "What do I do?"  Seth sputtered.  "What do I say?  I already scared him off once"  
            "Just be Seth Cohen."  He shrugged.  "It's worked for you so far."  
            Seth shot him an apprehensive look before scooting out of the car.  He loped across the parking lot in the drizzling rain, past mothers and screaming toddlers and umbrellas and minivans and trucks and shopping carts and streetlights reflected in puddles until he was ten feet behind Bike, his curls matted down from the wet rain, water stinging at his face.

            He stared at Bike, who was in turn staring forlornly at the gumball machines.  Seth felt a sudden, strange fury rising up in himself, and realized all at once that a sad Bike wasn't what he'd wanted to see.  After all, he'd driven all the way home alone, and all the way back with Sandy, and he was the one who should be said, cause after all, Bike-or-Ryan had left _him_. 

            He wasn't sure what to say.  And so he stood there and watched.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

            Ryan felt the eyes boring into him.  Rather than turn around immediately, he stared past himself at his reflection in the gumball machine.  Even in the dim streetlights and the misty haze he could see how tired he looked.  

            "I'm not gonna hurt you," he said to the frizzy-haired, squinting figure he saw reflected in it.

            "Yeah, that's not – I mean, I know."  Seth shifted his weight awkwardly.  "I'm not gonna, either.  I mean – hey.  Look."  
            Reluctantly, Ryan turned around.  He withdrew against the outside wall of the store, seeking what little shelter the building offered from the rain.

            "You should know.  You know.  That my dad's here.  He's in the car.  So, if you didn't want him involved, now's the time to leave."  Seth jerked his thumb in the direction of the car.  There it was, far away across the parking lot.  A good, safe, escapable distance away.

            Ryan clutched at his jacket.  His palms felt sweaty.  

            "I... I don't know..."

            "Hey.  What are you so afraid of?  Listen, Dad says not to worry about the probation thing, you've got extenuating circumstances.  He's got your back."  
            Ryan's head shot up.  "That's nice.  Now what about my front?"  
            "Dude?"  
            "All I've got to look forward to?  Is being some ward of the state.  You wouldn't understand.  Your dad wouldn't, either."

            "You don't know that," he said quickly.  
            "I thought... I thought I'd be okay alone."  
            "Alone is never okay."  Seth licked his lips.  "I understand that much."  
            Ryan heard the tone in his voice.  He slumped against the wall.  He was so tired.  "I don't need anybody takin' care of me."  
            "Maybe not.  But maybe you just need somebody to be with you."  
            Ryan glanced at Seth.  "I'm not your problem.  You realize that."  
            "No.  You're not my problem.  But I thought you were my friend.  I mean, I thought you could be."  Seth glanced away nervously.  
            "They'll probably send me back to Chino."

            "So?  I got my driver's license."  
            They stared each other down for a moment.  Ryan shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight again.  He glanced around the parking lot.

            "I can be your friend, but I don't know if I can be some... foster kid."  
            "Are you scared?"  
            Ryan shot him what he hoped was a scornful look.  "I'm not _scared_.  But you hear stories, and I'm not about to be one of 'em."  
            "You're not.  Ryan, you're not."  At the sound of Seth using his name like that, in a sentence, Ryan couldn't help but feel so much more exposed than he wanted to be.  He tensed a little.  "You've got me, and you've got my dad, and you just don't have to be alone anymore."  
            Ryan stared at him, processing the words.  "You barely know me."  
            "I know enough."  Seth's eyes locked on his.  "C'mon," he said, gesturing a little.  "Dad's waiting."  
            Ryan couldn't think about it too much.  If he thought about it too much, he'd never move.  He glanced up at the water dripping down from the overhang of the building that had been protecting him.  He hadn't realized it, but the water dripping off the building onto his arms hurt worse than the drizzle that Seth was standing under.  He took a step out, into the rain with Seth, letting the water come down around him.  It didn't hurt as much as he'd thought it would.  It pretty much rolled right off the leather jacket.  And his hair being wet?  Didn't matter so much when Seth was there with his curls going every which way in the water.

            Seth relaxed into a smile.  "C'mon," he said again. "Car's this way."

            Ryan followed Seth for just a moment before Seth dropped back, walking side by side with him.  The car grew larger and larger, Sandy Cohen's little sedan, until he could finally make out the familiar figure in the driver's seat.

            "You okay?" Seth asked, concerned.

            "Fine," Ryan muttered.

            "Oh, hey.  Where's your bag?"  
            The look Ryan shot him was enough to silence Seth, who glanced away.

            Ryan felt his pulse rate increasing as they reached the car.  His last chance to flee before turning himself over to the authorities.  Like it or not, Sandy Cohen was Authority.  Now everybody would know where Ryan Atwood was.  He couldn't hide any longer.  He wiped the water from his face.

            "You get in."  
            Ryan glanced up at Seth and realized it was finally too late.

            "You first," he said, puzzled.  His confusion grew even more when Seth shook his head.

            "C'mon, guys," Sandy urged from the car.

            "No," Seth said.  "We've got to straighten a few things out before I'm going back to Newport."  
            Ryan cocked his head and stared at him.

            "Such as," Seth said boldy, "this little matter of where exactly Ryan is going."

*

            "Seth.  Don't be an idiot.  Just hurry up and get in the car," Ryan said anxiously.

            "No way, dude."

            It was the best idea ever.  Sure, it was a little drastic for Seth's taste, but that had never stopped him before.  Okay, it had.  But it wouldn't this time.

He watched with satisfaction as his father's window rolled down.  "What's the hold up, guys?  C'mon, it's dry and warm in here."

Ryan shot Seth a pleading look.  "You can get in," Seth offered.  "I'm not."  
"Don't do this," Ryan begged.

            "Dad," Seth said patiently.  "Call Mom.  Tell her unless we can take Ryan home, I'm not going back to Newport."  He noted his father's eyes bugging out, and tried to contain his satisfaction.

            "He's crazy.  You're crazy," Ryan accused.

            "Yes.  Perhaps I am."

"Seth?" Sandy asked.  "What do you think you're doing?"  
"What am I doing? Why, I think – yes, I think I am having a tantrum."

            "Well, do it in the car, you'll catch cold from the rain."  
            Seth rolled his eyes and threw his hands in the air.  "God, Dad.  Viruses make you sick, not water.  And that's the point.  The sooner you settle this, the sooner we'll all be on our merry way."  
            "Would you just get in already and cut it out?" Ryan growled.

            "If you want to get in, I told you, go ahead.  I am not moving."  
            Ryan sighed and looked to Sandy for help, who shrugged.  Seth couldn't help but feel vindicated, especially as his father reached for the phone.  He smirked at Ryan, who looked rather distressed.

            "I mean, you would come live with us, right?  Between that and a foster home?"  
            "Maybe.  Before you went all with the crazy.  I'm not rooming with a nutcase."  
            "Okay, then.  It's settled.  You can have your own room."  
            "Yes, hi.  Kirsten."  Sandy glanced up at the boys in the rain.  "Your son here would like to speak to you.  Yes."  He listened for a moment.  "Yes, it is.  Well.  He'll explain."  He passed the phone through the window, and Ryan moved forward to take it and bring it over to Seth reluctantly.  "You get to explain this one to her," Sandy said.

            Seth took the phone from Ryan.  "Hi, Mom."  
            Her voice sounded tired already.  "What is it?"  
            He took a deep breath.  "I am boycotting Newport.  On principle."  
            "Translate, please."  
            "I mean until you and Dad agree, that Ryan can come live with us, I am not getting in the car.  Or coming home."  
            He rather enjoyed her shocked silence.  He hoped it was shocked silence, anyway.  He raised an eyebrow at Ryan, who just looked exasperated now.

            "Ryan?  The kid you guys went to pick up?"  
            "No, Mom, the other one."  
            "Please save the sarcasm, Seth."  
            "Okay.  Sorry."  No need to push her buttons any more than necessary.  "Yes. Him."  
            "It's not up to you or us, Seth.  It's not our business."  
            "Yes. It is."  
            "What does Ryan want?"  
            Seth glanced up at Ryan, who was shivering in the rain now.  "He wants me to shut up and get in the car, but that's not the point."  
            "Oh, it's not?"  
            "Please, Mom.  Save the sarcasm.  The point is, either you and Dad say yes, or I march to the Wal-Mart right over there and set up camp."  
            He heard her sigh.  "Put your father back on the phone."

*

            Sandy winced as he took the phone back from Ryan.  "Hi, honey."  
            "He is so your son."  
            He sighed.  "I know."  
            "My genes have nothing to do with this."  
            "I know."  
            "I think it's a bad idea."  
            Sandy took a deep breath and glanced out the window at the two wet boys outside underneath the streetlights.  "I don't know."  He lowered his voice as he watched them shivering together in the rain.  "You haven't even met Ryan."  
            "So what, you're with Seth now?  You think we should take this kid in?  Where did his family go exactly?"  
            "I don't know, but until we figure that out, we should at least get our son out of the rain."  
            "Our son?  I thought we agreed.  This is _your_ son, Sandy."  
            Sandy stared down at his lap.  "I know."

*

            "Why are you doing this?"  
            Seth glanced at Ryan in surprise.  "Cause I want to.  Why aren't you getting in the car?"  
            "Cause you're out here being a dumbass.  I didn't ask you to do this."  
            "Yeah, I think I would have remembered that.  No, you didn't ask me for anything, really, so I'm offering."

            "Offer?  Declined."  
            "So, what?  You're just gonna go do foster care?  Strangers?"  
            "Maybe."  He winced involuntarily.

            "I saw that."  
            "Saw what?"  
            "The face of uncertainty, dude.  You want to come home with us."  
            "No!"  Ryan exploded.  "I don't!  All right?  I want my dad out of jail, I want him to care like your dad.  I want my mom to stay put, I want my brother to stay out of trouble.  I want my family to be like your family.  I don't want it to _be_ your family."  
            Seth, for once in his life, was shocked into silence.  It didn't last long.  "Okay.  And until then?  Maybe this is... second best."  
            They stared at each other.  The rain had faded to a light mist by now.  The moon was pushing through the clouds.

            "Okay," Ryan said softly.

            "What was that?" Seth asked, not quite believing.

            "Okay!" Sandy called from the car, folding the phone in two with a sharp click.  The boys glanced at each other before sauntering up to the window, together.

            "Okay?" Seth echoed.

            "Here's our offer.  Ryan, if you want, you are welcome to come to our home.  For the time being.  And... we will do whatever we can to keep you out of foster care."  Seth pumped his fist and glanced at Ryan's weary face.  "You can stay in our pool house.  Seth?"  Seth dropped his fist.  "You are to let this rest between me and Ryan from now on."  
            He held his hands up, palms spread.  "Done."  
            "And Ryan?"  
            Ryan raised his eyebrows slightly.  "Yes, Mr. Cohen?"  
            "Starting now, _you_ call me Sandy."

            "Okay.  Sandy."  
            "And both of you?"  
            Seth and Ryan glanced at each other before looking back to Sandy.

            He inclined his head.  "Get the hell into this car before you freeze to death."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

            The door closed and Ryan rubbed his hands nervously, glancing around the large, open space as Sandy and Kirsten Cohen disappeared, headed back for the big house.  He could probably fit his entire house in here, in this little pool house they were going to host him in.  His house.  His old house.  He stared down at the ground.  He didn't want to think about it.

            "You could, you know, put your bag down or something," Seth suggested.  He had already set up temporary camp in a barstool at the bar, and was flipping through a comic book casually.  As if he owned the place.  Which he did.

            "Bag.  Down.  Right," Ryan said.  He obediently dropped the bag from the drugstore onto the bed.  "So.  This is your place, huh?"  
            Seth glanced up, nodded, and returned to his comic.

            "Kinda... big," Ryan observed.

            "Oh, didn't I tell you? This, this is just the summer home.  Wait'll you see the big house."  
            "Funny."  Ryan stopped.  "You _are_ kidding, right?"

            "Yeah."  Seth shrugged as Ryan stared at him for a moment, then grinned.  He collapsed against the wall and took a deep breath.  He wanted to be alone right now, but being with Seth was an okay second choice.  If there had to be a second choice.

            "Thanks," Ryan grunted.  "For – you know."  
            "Hey, man, what are friends for?"  
            "Friends don't have to pull stunts like that," Ryan said, fixing him with a stare.

            "But maybe they feel like they have to," Seth shot back.

            Ryan shook his head and straightened up.  "Whatever.  Here we are, huh?"

            "Don't worry too much about my mom," Seth offered.  "She'll come around when she gets to know you."  
            Ryan heaved a sign.  "Hope so."  
            "She will," Seth said with authority.  He tossed the comic book onto the bar with authority.  It skipped across and stopped just on the verge of falling down.  "Dude.  You are _so_ set here."  
            "Maybe," Ryan shrugged.  He paused.  "Mr. Cohen – your – uh, Sandy says he wants to find my mom."  
            "Do you have any idea where she went?" Seth asked quietly.

            Ryan sat down, looking wet and bedraggled and unusually small amidst the sofa cushions.  "Her boyfriend threw me out.  Well, she did, he..."  Ryan squinted.  "Helped," he finished.    
            "That's-" Seth started, but there was no need.

            "So if we don't find them, I don't care," Ryan said fiercely.

            Seth stood up and stretched in the long silence that followed.  He made his way over to the bed and flopped back onto it with a bounce.  "Back there.  In San Diego.  You told me you wanted them to be normal.  Is that gonna happen?"

            Ryan stared out at the pool.  He shook his head.

            "So in the meantime... is this okay?"  
            "This is great," Ryan admitted.  "I mean, I thought you guys were loaded.  But damn."  
            "How funny is it, anyway?  That I'd stop and pick you up and that it would turn out my dad was your lawyer.  That kind of stuff only happens on, like, bad soap operas, right?"  
            "I don't really watch soap operas."  
            "Oh, god, neither do I.  Neither does my mom.  Officially.  Off the record, though?  Don't disturb her between 8 and 9 on weeknights, it's when she watches her tape."  
            Ryan issued a small snort at that.  "But yeah.  I guess I maybe got lucky for once."  
            "Luck?  Or fate?  What do you think about fate?"  
            "I think I have had way too long a day to think about fate."  
            "No, really," Seth said, curling his legs up into a sitting position on the bed.  "I can't shake the feeling that this was meant to be."  
            Ryan was silent, and Seth let him stay that way for a few long moments.  He was starting to learn that it was okay not to fill every silence with Ryan.  Sometimes Ryan just needed a few seconds to get his words together.  And then there was the payoff.  Like now.  "I almost called your dad," he admitted.  "A long, long time ago."  
            "Why didn't you?"  
            "I couldn't make up my mind."  
            "Were you scared?"  Seth asked.  Ryan drew in a breath.  "Okay, don't answer that."  
            "No, it's fair.  Maybe I was scared.  Maybe I still am, but... at least I've got a real bed for tonight, you know?"  
            "And you're supposed to.  Just like you're supposed to be here."  
            "Feel free to tell your parents that."

            "I have."  
            "Your mom doesn't want me here."  
            "You don't know that."  Seth glanced down at his lap.  "You know, Ryan, if it was meant to be, she'll come around.  That's how these things happen."

"And until then?"

"Until then," Seth said, "take a little time and enjoy life.  It's not so bad here.  I mean – not as bad as I make it out to be."

            "Huh," Ryan grunted.  He knew there was more to say, he knew there was more he wanted to say, but the words weren't there.  He was too tired now to put his thoughts together.  Fate.  Destiny.  Chance.  Luck.  Not things that had been on his side before.  But maybe this was the kind of thing that was supposed to happen after you hit rock bottom.  Maybe he was finally getting something other than what he deserved.

            And maybe, just maybe, he could take a little time and enjoy life.  

For a little while.  
            

*

            "I apologize for every gene he got from me, is that enough?" Sandy asked, raising his eyes over the New Yorker he was flipping through.  "I apologize for the hair, the chin, the anti-social behavior, and the bleeding heart liberal ideology, too.  Oh, and if those eyebrows ever come in?  I apologize.  Profusely."

            Kirsten sighed as she moved into the den. "That's not it this time."  She collapsed on the couch beside him.  "But thanks."  
            "What is it?"  
            She shook her head.  "You'll laugh at me."  
            "Honey, I am way too exhausted right now to laugh at anything."  
            She snuggled up beside him, and he dropped the magazine to his lap, wrapping an arm around her.  "I had a dream," she said, muffled slightly in his shoulder.  
            "You what now?"  
            "See, I knew you'd laugh."  
            "Not laughing!  Do I look like I'm laughing?"  
            "You're smirking."  She placed a hand on his chest and pushed up so that she was facing him.  "Cut it out."  
            "Cutting.  Dream.  Tell me all about it."  
            She relaxed back into the sofa, leaning against him for support.  "I never fall asleep so early in the evening, but I was waiting for you and Seth to come home with the boy, I was watching HBO in the bedroom, and I... I guess I must have fallen asleep.  On top of the comforter."  She blinked.  "When do I ever fall asleep on top of the covers?  But... this time, I did.  And I dreamed – I dreamed about our family."  
            "Okay," Sandy said, with a perplexed nod.

            Her eyes glazed over somewhat as she stared at the dark entertainment center across from them.  "I dreamed about you, and me, and Seth.  And another son.  I dreamed we'd had another son, all those years ago, and we'd all gotten old together.  Seth was so happy, I've never seen him so happy as he was in the dream.  We were all out by the pool, you were grilling food, and Seth was smiling, and he and our other son were splashing in our pool, and you and I were so happy, and it just felt... it just felt right."  She paused.  "Did you ever think what would have happened if we'd had another child?"  
            "I think you would have had a coronary. You had a hard enough time being pregnant with Seth, honey.  I know you've conveniently forgotten, but I've got videotapes if you want to bring back old memories."  
            "Yuck.  No."  She turned to him.  "Sandy.  I didn't want you to bring this kid home."  
            "I know."  
            "But..."  She sighed and reached up for a piece of hair, which she began to twist.  "When I saw him, I..."  Her voice trailed off.  
            "What?" he prodded.  He turned to regard her quizzically.  "What is it?"  
            "I just had a strange feeling is all."  
            "Strange?  Good?  Bad?"  
            She licked her lips.  "I would never have another baby.  You're right.  One was more than enough."  
            "Where are you going with this?  Are you going where I think you're going?"  
            "I... I didn't think I was.  But... are you thinking I'm going where I think I'm going?"  
            "Wait.  Stop.  I'm confused."  
            She relaxed again, pressing her head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth between them.  "Your son may be a rebel, but my son is a smart kid."

            "And?"

            "And he makes good decisions."  
            "So...?"  
            "So.  I'm saying maybe... maybe Seth was on to something."  She smiled up at him.  "I should have a bad feeling about this.  And I don't.  And neither does Seth.  And neither, I think, do you."  
            He squeezed her shoulder tightly.  "Are you sure about this?"  
            "I'm never sure about anything.  But I hide it well."  
            "That you do."  He leaned over to kiss the top of her head.  

            "Marrying you definitely has kept my life from being boring."  
            He smiled softly as he rested his chin on the top of her hair.  "That's the idea."

*

            In the pool house, two boys lounged on the chairs lazily listening to music, each one quietly reflective in his own way, while in the house, in the living room, a man and a woman sat together, each one quietly reflective in their own way, watching the television but not understanding or listening to what it was saying to them.  

            In the silence of the house on the hill on the cliff by the ocean, the music quietly came together and finally rang the note that had been waiting for so long to ring.  It rang out proudly, unheard by any of the quiet household members, but triumphant and resolute all the same.

            And the notes that had been ringing out with discord were finally playing the song they were intended to play.

            And the music was good, and the song was strong, and they all knew, somewhere, that maybe, just maybe, they might have the chance to live happily ever after.  If they were lucky.  And if fate was on their side.

THE END  
  



End file.
